


Capsicoul: Drabble Me

by bearfeathers



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Adoption, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, Bad Puns, Brainwashing, CA:TWS spoilers, Capsicoul - Freeform, Car Sex, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hockey, M/M, Magic, Married Couple, Memory Loss, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Episode: s01e11 The Magical Place, Psychological Torture, Rescue Missions, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, Secret Relationship, Trust Issues, Watching Someone Sleep, alternate universe - skyrim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 53,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearfeathers/pseuds/bearfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Precisely what it says on the tin. Taken from a tumblr prompt post where SOMEONE asked for each of the prompts for Capsicoul. You know who you are.</p><p>Current Fill: Leave a “Zip Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character dressing another, or the other way around [this can also be used for shutting them up as well, but feel free to specify.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amuse Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tawg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/gifts).



“Did you hear the one about the fire at the circus?”

Until he hears this quietly posed question, Steve is under the impression that he is quite alone. The thing is, he is often under the impression that he is quite alone, only to have Phil prove him wrong time and again. Usually it’s a delightful surprise, but now he finds he wishes his assumption of solitude had been correct. He’s not in the mood for company and while he’s sure that staring moodily out the window isn’t exactly the most productive thing he can be doing, it’s really all he _wants_ to do. And he wants to do it alone.

“It was intense.”

It’s not funny. It really, truly isn’t. Or it wouldn’t be if not for Phil’s deadpan, completely and utterly serious delivery. But Steve doesn’t want to laugh. When he’s in a foul mood, he wants to be left to steep in it. And usually, attempts to cheer him up only serve to push him into an even darker mood, but this time he finds himself struggling to remain in his misery.

“Did you hear about the red ship and the blue ship that collided?” Phil asks in spite of his silence. “Both crews were marooned.”

Steve feels his lips twitch and he struggles to keep his features neutral, if not hard and stern as they’d been before.

“Did you hear about what happened to the Italian Chef?” Phil asks. “He pasta way.”

Steve stares down at his shoes, trying to focus on what had made him angry in the first place in the hopes of maintaining his composure.

“Did you hear about the Irishman who wanted to be a lawyer?” Phil asks. “He couldn’t make it past the bar.”

It’s really getting to be too much. Try as he might, Steve feels a smile working its way onto his face. Any more of this and he’s going to have to beg for mercy.

“What does Thor wear under his shorts?” Phil asks.

Steve’s not sure he wants to know.

“Thunderpants.”

That’s the last straw. Steve doubles over, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. Whatever anger he’d been trying to hold onto leaves him as laughter forces it out and away. When he manages to straighten up, he has tears in his eyes.

“Oh God, Phil, those are _awful_ ,” he proclaims.

“And yet you’re still laughing at them,” Phil points out with a smile.

“They’re not funny,” Steve argues, chuckling.

“You’re right. They’re not,” Phil agrees. “They’re hilarious.”

“Just because Thor laughs at them doesn’t mean they’re hilarious,” Steve says with a shake of his head.

“Really? Because he got a real kick out of that thunderpants one,” Phil says, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He shrugs offhandedly, dismissing the matter, before looking the other man in the eye. He claps Steve affectionately on the back. “Now, since you’re looking a little less gloom and doom, why don’t we take a trip to that bakery that has that apple cake you like so much?”

Steve quirks an eyebrow curiously, smile still fixed in place. “You’re that intent on cheering me up that you’d leave in the middle of a workday to drive to a bakery?”

“Do I need to break out more jokes?” Phil asks. “Because I’m just getting started.”

Steve laughs, slinging an arm around the shorter man’s shoulder and hauling him in. He presses a quick kiss to the agent’s temple.

“Alright, alright, I give in,” he proclaims. “Mercy. Uncle. Whatever it takes to stop the jokes.”

“You love them,” Phil says, pulling away and tugging Steve along by the hand. “Admit it.”

Steve shrugs, grinning from ear to ear as he allows himself to be lead towards the garage. “Only when you tell them.”


	2. Break Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more Steve says, the more Phil breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post AoS S01E10 "The Bridge."

“You need to calm your breathing,” Steve tells him.

Between panting breaths, a laugh escapes him, the sound bordering on hysterical.

“Calm my breathing,” Phil echoes, pacing back and forth. “Do I even need to? Do I even need to breathe?”

“Phil.”

Steve’s voice is gentle, quiet and maybe a little desperate. If Phil would bother to look, he might see the pained expression on the soldier’s face. He might see the way Steve starts towards him, only to abort the movement time and again, as though he’s afraid he might scare Phil away. And above all, he might see the crippling regret in the man’s blue eyes.

“Please,” Steve whispers.

“You _knew_ ,” Phil spits. “You _all_ knew.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his confession. “If there had been any other way—“

“Don’t give me that. Don’t you _dare_ feed me that line,” Phil snaps turning on his heel and jabbing an accusatory finger at Steve. “Any of you could have told me at any time. Damn Fury’s orders, you could have told me. You should have told me. I mean… my _god_ , Steve, do you have any idea how this feels?”

“No. I don’t,” Steve says truthfully. He takes a deep breath. “We always meant to tell you. Eventually, you were going to be told. But there was never a time for it. We wanted to wait until you were recovered, until you had readjusted… but that never really happened, did it? You just kept… spiraling. I tried to be there for you, as much as I could given the circumstances, but it wasn’t enough.”

Steve takes a cautious step towards him.

“We were discussing our options when Centipede took you,” he says.

Phil flinches at the reminder, turns away and folds his arms tightly over his chest. No, no, he doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to talk about the things they’d done to him, doesn’t want to be reminded.

“And at that point it was too late,” Steve continues. “With what they did to you, of course you found out. And now none of us can take that back. You have no reason to, but I wish you’d believe me when I say that I would do anything to change it. If I could take it all back, I would, no matter the price.”

Phil shakes his head, feeling a lump work its way up his throat. He swallows thickly, feeling tears pricking at his eyes and only growing more desolate for the fact.

“You’ve watched me struggle with this for months,” Phil says, his voice cracking despite his attempts to keep it level. “You’ve consoled me when I’ve woken screaming from nightmares, held me until I calmed down. You’ve seen me at my lowest, have been there for me at every point of self-loathing and doubt and uncertainty. By all accounts you’ve been… you’ve been…”

He gropes blindly for the wall, his hand shaking as he tries to steady himself.

“And all that time, you knew,” he chokes out. “You just let me go on tormenting myself when you could have ended all of that at any time. Every single one of the fears I confided in you and the whole time you knew I wasn’t… that I’m… I’m not real.”

He feels hot tears sliding down his cheeks. Hearing himself say it feels like the final nail in the coffin and his breath leaves him in a great, whooshing exhale as his knees give out. Phil Coulson died and whatever had been left they’d just… downloaded into this body. This LMD. And then they’d hidden it from him. Fury, Hill, Sitwell, the Avengers… hell, even his supposed hand-picked team had known the truth. He’d allowed himself to get close to Steve, for Steve to get close to him, never suspecting a thing. It never occurred to him that the man sharing a bed with him might be lying to him. And now he has to wonder… is there anything about him that’s real?

“None of it was real. None of it,” he sobs.

He feels Steve’s hands on his shoulders and he pushes at the other man frantically.

“Don’t touch me,” he pleads. “I can’t… I can’t…”

“It _was_ real,” Steve says insistently. He reaches out, his hands framing the sides of Phil’s face and forcing the agent to look at him. “It _is_ real. _You_ are real, Phil, please… I never meant to hurt you like this. I’m not asking for forgiveness, I know I have no right to do that, but despite whatever I’ve kept from you, I need you to know that I never faked my feelings for you. It wasn’t for show, it wasn’t on Fury’s orders and it wasn’t part of keeping you in the dark. I love you, Phil. Just the way you are, no matter what.”

“And you expect me to believe that?” Phil asks.

Steve opens his mouth and closes it.

“I expect you to believe whatever you think is worth believing,” he says after a minute.

“I don’t know what’s worth believing,” Phil confesses. “How am I supposed to trust you? Any of you?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admits in a whisper.

“Please let go,” Phil says with a great, shaky inhale.

Steve complies, lowering his hands and sitting back on his heels. He watches Phil sag against the wall, head hanging low and shoulders quivering, and he has to resist every urge to reach out, to console, to comfort. It’s not his place anymore.

Just outside this room there are Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents alike, trying to give them space but unable to stay away. Later Steve will have to consider what to do about them, but right now, the only thing he can focus on is the broken, desolate man before him. He can’t promise to fix this, can’t say that he’ll repair the things he’s broken or the damage Phil’s taken, but he can try.

If Phil lets him, he can try.


	3. Call Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an unexpected guest at Phil's surprise party.

It’s not often they go out to celebrate like this, so needless to say, the team is enjoying themselves. The laughs are as plentiful as the alcohol—and maybe there’s a little _too_ much of that—and even the more stoic of them cracks a smile now and then. Phil is the first of them to call it quits, citing too much alcohol and not enough sleep.

“Aw, come on, the birthday boy can’t ditch his own party!” Skye protests.

“The birthday boy wasn’t expecting a surprise party and hasn’t slept in almost two days,” Phil answers with a patient smile.

“Just one more drink, sir?” Fitz prods. “It’s not every day you turn fifty, after all.”

“Lord, don’t remind me,” Phil says with a laugh and a shake of his head. He glances once around the table at each of them, eyes crinkling fondly, before he pushes away from the table. “Thank you, all of you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“Happy birthday, sir,” Ward says, grinning and raising his glass.

“And many happy returns!” Simmons adds, much to the agreement of the table.

It takes him several more attempts, but eventually he does manage to free himself from the group and retreats to one of the rooms they’d booked for the weekend—but not before ensuring they wouldn’t stop on his account. Yes, it was originally a party they’d planned for his birthday, but how often did they all get to let loose like this? So he slips away once he’s certain they’ll keep the good mood alive in his absence.

And they do. That is, until someone crashes their party. About an hour after Phil leaves, they get an unexpected visitor.

“Don’t tell me Phil’s gone to bed already.”

Skye hears the voice and in conjunction sees wide eyes across the table from her. Simmons chokes on her champagne, her coughing turning her already pink cheeks even pinker. May raises an eyebrow, sipping from her glass and regarding the newcomer with some interest.

“Funny,” she says. “Didn’t see you on the guest list.”

Skye twists in her seat, careful not to let her jaw hit the floor when she gets an eyeful of who May is speaking to.

“Holy shit, you’re Captain America,” she blurts.

“I am, but most of my friends just call me ‘Steve,’” he says with a smile. He looks at each of the gathered faces in turn. “Judging by your faces, I’m guessing Phil didn’t mention me.”

“Mention that you would be coming to his birthday party that he didn’t know about? No, he didn’t mention that,” Ward says.

Steve actually laughs at that.

“Did you really think you had him fooled?” he questions.

“You mean he wasn’t surprised?” Simmons asks, sounding crushed by the realization.

“I’m not saying he didn’t appreciate it. Believe me, he was very touched,” Steve says. “It’s just, well… he’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

“Point taken,” Ward concedes.

“…but you’re _Captain America_ ,” Skye emphasizes.

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly. He shifts on his feet. “Could you tell me what room he’s in?”

“213,” May says easily.

“Thank you,” he answers. “Sorry for the hurried introduction, I just want to make sure I see him before he falls asleep. If you don’t mind, we can discuss this later.”

There’s a general murmur of agreement before they collectively watch him leave the bar in the direction of the elevator. Following, there’s a moment of silence where they all look to each other questioningly… before turning their gaze on May.

“Coulson’s seeing Rogers,” May says, pouring herself more champagne.

“And you didn’t think that was _something we might like to know_?” Skye demands.

May shrugs. “Coulson planned to get around to telling all of you, he just told me first. There haven’t been many opportune moments to sit down and talk about it since then.”

“I thought none of the Avengers had clearance to know,” Ward points out.

“Rogers and Romanoff found out,” May answers. “As for the others, Fury’s not allowing it just yet.”

“Well,” Fitz says, clearing his throat, “I suppose it’s good to know Agent Coulson is doing something in his spare time.”

Skye and Simmons share a look before bursting into laughter. Fitz looks in confusion from the two women over to May and Ward who are wearing matching smirks.

“What? What is it, what have I said?” he asks in bewilderment.

“Poor choice of words,” Ward says, taking pity on him.

Fitz stares before the other man’s meaning sinks in and he shrugs as far into his seat as humanly possible. Well, maybe there’s enough champagne left for him to not regret having said that.

* * *

Phil snorts and rolls over when he hears a knock at the door. He really, really would prefer to just stay in bed. Steve’s arm slides across his lower back and he feels fingers caressing his side. Lips press to his shoulder, kissing a line towards the back of his neck.

“Probably your team,” Steve hums against his skin. “Want me to get it?”

Phil sighs into his pillow. The knocking persists.

“No, I’ll get it,” he says.

He pushes himself up onto his elbows and leans over to press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips before he rolls out of bed. He steps into his pajama pants and picks up his t-shirt off the floor on his way to the hotel room door. He pulls hit on, taking a brief minute to compose himself before unlatching and opening the door. Skye is on the other side, her fist poised for another series of knocks, but at the sight of him she lowers her hand.

“Lucy, you got some ‘splainin’ to do,” she says in about the poorest Ricky Ricardo impression he’s ever heard. And he’s heard some bad ones. At his raised eyebrow, she drops the act and shoves her hands in her pockets. “Right. Well, you know, we were all going to go get some breakfast and everyone’s asking for you… and Steve, if he wants to join us. But if you’d rather sleep in, we’d get it.”

“I think breakfast sounds like a great idea,” Steve says, appearing at his shoulder. “I’m starving. And I know you are, too, don’t deny it.”

Phil snorts and shakes his head with a laugh. Leave it to Steve to break the ice.

“Alright. You take the shower first,” he says.

Steve nods, waving to Skye before disappearing into the bathroom. Phil waits a moment, lingering in the open doorway with Skye until he hears the water running.

“I meant to tell all of you—“

“Hey, no, that’s cool. It’s your business,” Skye says honestly. “But we’re all cool with it. So you know. I mean… he’s _Captain America_.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Phil says with a chuckle.

“I’m just saying, if he’s treating you right and he makes you happy, don’t be weird about inviting him to come with us once in a while,” Skye says.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Phil says.

He doesn’t say much, but he’s grateful, immensely so. All the same, he’s surprised when she throws her arms around his neck in a crushing hug.

“Happy birthday, A.C.,” Skye says, kissing his check before letting him go. “We’ll see you in the lobby.”

He waves as she departs and closes the door behind him. Just as he passes by the bathroom, the door opens and Steve pokes his head out, dripping wet and sporting a grin from ear to ear.

“So are you going to stand there or are you going to get in here with me?” he asks.

“Are you seriously using the conserving water technique on me?” Phil asks, laughing.

“We’ll get done twice as fast,” Steve says. “Don’t want to keep them all waiting, right? Now come on, let’s hurry up so I can meet your team.”

(In the end, it takes them twice as long, but no one’s complaining.)


	4. Drink Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve hasn't been able to get drunk since before the serum, but when Thor brings some Asgardian Mead to an Avengers get-together, they decide to experiment a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the true spirit of writing, I wrote this while drunk. I am drunk right now. Because fucking editing sober, man, just publish that shit. Just... DO THE THING. Doing it now, okay? Okay.

“So you really think this’ll work?” Steve asks, peering dubiously into his glass.

“Well, your accelerated metabolism means that your body burns off alcohol before you feel any effects,” Bruce begins. “Thor’s body doesn’t work all that differently when it comes to anything we have here on Earth, but Asgardian mead seems to do the trick for him. So, it stands to reason that it just may be enough to, for lack of a better term, cheat the system.”

“What about side effects?” Phil asks, arms folded over his chest. “Is there a chance of alcohol poisoning?”

“I highly doubt it,” Bruce assures him. “And on the off chance that there should be any negative ramifications, well… I’m here.”

“Fear not, Son of Coul,” Thor says, slapping him fondly on the back. “No harm will come to him.”

“Nothing beyond a bad hangover, right?” Tony says, looking delighted by the possibility.

“Aye, there is that,” Thor agrees.

“Well, I’m certainly willing to give it a try,” Steve says.

“I’ve got the table set up, let’s get this party going already,” Clint says, ushering them over.

It’s a simple game of Kings, nothing out of the ordinary. There are a few rounds of “Never Have I Ever”—in which they discover a few interesting details about each other’s personal lived—and “Categories” before they finally reach their first “Waterfall.” That’s when things get interesting. Tony, who’s seated to Steve’s right, just keeps on chugging away, even after Clint stops, which means Steve and Phil have to continue as well. It goes on until all three of them drain their glasses and Tony tosses his against the far wall triumphantly, earning an approving laugh from Thor.

“That was rude,” Phil says.

“Feeling a little tipsy, agent?” Tony teases.

“Not in the slightest,” Phil answers, rising to refill his glass.

“What about you, Spangles?” Tony asks.

“I’m kind of… Actually, I think it might be working,” Steve proclaims. “I feel tingly.”

“Tingly’s good,” Natasha says with a nod. “Looks like we’re making progress.”

“When did this become a science experiment?” Steve wonders aloud.

“The second Bruce and Tony got involved,” Pepper says, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, how does that Asgardian Mead taste, anyway?” Clint wonders.

This leads to everyone deciding to try a glass of it which leads to very sudden, very unexpected inebriation.

“Wow. Wow, that… wow, Thor, that’s some stuff,” Clint says, putting down his empty glass.

“Yes, it’s… impressive,” Phil admits, loosening his tie.

Tony sniggers, refilling his glass. “Now you’re drunk.”

“No, I’m just approaching drunk,” Phil protests. “Not drunk yet.”

“I’m… oh,” Steve says, swaying slightly where he sits. “I think it’s kicking in.”

Another glass later and Steve’s definitely feeling the effects. It’s like nothing he’s felt since before the serum. Really, he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be drunk. He’s aware they’re still playing the game, but they seem to keep detouring from it and just flat-out drinking instead. Watching Phil through the whole thing, Steve has to say he kind of likes the way alcohol loosens Phil up. He’s slumps in his seat, his expression soft and his cheeks pleasantly pink as his hand gently massages Steve’s thigh. Not to mention the way Phil begins nuzzling his neck is absolutely distracting in the worst kind of way.

“Feeling okay?” Phil asks him.

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums contentedly.

He’s feeling warm, drowsy. His whole body’s kind of tingly, but his head’s swimming in the most pleasant way he could possibly imagine.

“Not overdoing it?” Phil presses.

“Nah,” Steve answers. He reaches up and pulls the agent’s tie away, clumsily undoing the top button so he can get at the shorter man’s throat. He nibbles and sucks at the exposed flesh, a pleased hum escaping him at Phil’s obvious enjoyment of his attention. “You’re drunk.”

“Mm. Little bit,” Phil answers, nuzzling his temple.

“I like you like this,” Steve slurs. His rests a hand on Phil’s thigh, his touch creeping upward until he’s cupping him through his slacks. “I want to make love to you.”

Steve’s head snaps up at the chorus of wolf whistles because oh, yes, they’re not back at Phil’s apartment, they’re still here with all of their friends. Still, he’s surprised by Phil’s response.

“Oh, fuck off, Stark,” the agent snorts.

“You said a bad word!” Tony says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“He swears a fuck-ton when he’s drunk,” Clint clarifies, eyeballing his empty glass.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Barton,” Phil warns him.

“Yessir,” Clint says, offering him a wonky salute.

“Well, I think this experiment was a success,” Bruce declares, rising from his seat. “And since it’s pretty late, I think we should call it quits. I’ll call you two a cab.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Steve says, slouching in his seat and letting his eyes drift shut.

“You could always stay here,” Tony offers.

“No. We’re not getting into this again,” Pepper declares. “Just let them go home, Tony. Let them live their lives. Unless both of you are too drunk. Because I don’t want to be worrying over whether or not you made it home safely.”

“We’ll be fine,” Phil assures her. “I’ll text when we get in.”

“You’ve fared rather well, for humans,” Thor says, looking upon all of them with fond eyes.

“Thor, are you still sober?” Natasha inquires, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Of course. Surely you didn’t think a little mead would be enough to do the job?” Thor answers with a deep chuckle. “On Asgard we have hosted celebrations for as long as two or three weeks. A few hours of imbibing are hardly enough to affect me.”

“But Nat’s drunk… and she’s _Russian_ ,” Clint says slowly. “Phil’s drunk and he’s… well, he’s Phil, for Chrissakes. You’re cheating or something.”

“No cheating has occurred, I assure you,” Thor says. “But it seems our good captain is feeling the ieffects more fully than he’d let on.”

“I’m okay!” Steve says, a little too loudly. “’m fine.”

“Which is our cue to call it a night,” Phil declares. “It’s been… fun, thank you.”

* * *

“I don’t remember much after that,” Steve confesses.

“I’m not surprised,” Phil answers, placing a cool cloth on the back of his neck.

“God, I’d forgotten about the hangovers,” Steve grumbles. “…at least I’m not throwing up.”

“You took are of most of that last night,” Phil tells him.

“I did?” Steve asks. He scrubs a hand over his face. “I wasn’t… sick on you, was I?”

“Only once or twice,” Phil says with a shrug.

Steve groans loudly, mortification settling like a stone in his stomach. He doesn’t remember anything at all about the previous night past what he’d told Phil, but the idea that he’d thrown up all over his boyfriend after groping him in front of their friends and proclaiming he’d like to make love to him, well…  there aren’t many experiences he can claim have been more regretful in his life.

“It’s not a big deal,” Phil assure him, leaning over to kiss his temple. “Try to sleep it off, alright? Bruce said you should be fine by the end of the day.”

“How come you’re not hung over?” Steve mumbles.

“Oh, I don’t get hangovers,” Phil informs him. “No one in my family does.”

“Lucky you,” Steve snorts.

Phil rubs his back soothingly.

“How about we have a drink together at the end of the week? Just the two of us,” Phil says quietly. “Nothing to overdo it, just enough to get a little tipsy while we have a bit of dinner and I can take you up on that offer from last night for dessert.”

Steve knows just what the agent’s hinting at. It’s hard not to after he’d basically told the man he wanted to have sex while in front of all their friends.

“I was going to ask you to never let me drink again, but with an offer like that, I have to say that I’ve changed my mind,” Steve murmurs.

“I thought you might,” Phil chuckles.


	5. Enamor Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers is the Captain of the newest NHL team, the Avengers. Phil Coulson is a seasoned referee. Under no circumstances should they be seeing each other in anything other than a professional capacity. Apparently Steve never quite got that memo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [You Can Play Project](http://youcanplayproject.org/) is an actual thing, btw. Check it out.

Steve groans when he hears the whistle and begrudgingly brings himself to a halt. He turns to find the referee, Phil Coulson, pointing at him.

“Cross-checking, two minutes,” Phil says.

“Come on, ref,” he sighs.

“Sorry, Captain, a penalty’s a penalty,” Phil answers. “Have a seat.”

He whacks his stick against the boards in agitation, but doesn’t argue. It’s not going to do him any good. Steve might be one of the cleanest players in the league, but Phil has earned his own reputation as a no-nonsense referee with a keen eye. In fact, Steve’s pretty sure Commissioner Fury has more than once referred to the man as his “one good eye” in the league.

From what Steve has seen of the man, he knows him to be fair and impartial. This being despite the fact that it’s not much of a secret that the guy is something of a fan of Steve’s. In fact, the first time they’d met, the official had seemed nervous—a stark contrast to his serious on-ice demeanor. Since then, though, well… they’ve warmed up to each other.

When the penalty timer runs down, Steve wastes no time and explodes out of the penalty box, making a mad dash to join the fray. On the way he taps the back of Phil’s skates with his stick and, had he been looking, he would have seen a small, pleased smile in return. But there’s hockey to be played, and play it he does.

* * *

“I was about to send in a search party.”

Phil looks up from his keys to find a certain someone leaning against his driver’s side door. Steve Rogers flashes him a bright smile and a casual salute as he stops dead in his tracks. Phil shivers—and not just because of the cold.

Everyone knows he’s a fan of the Avengers Captain, but you can’t really blame him. Steve was a talent that Phil had been following since the man’s college days. It seemed the whole nation had eyes for the rising star and teams from all around were gearing up to offer him a place on their team. But despite all those handsome offers, the young man had chosen to enlist in the military alongside his two best friends, looking to “just do his part,” as he put it.

He did that and more, earning himself the rank of Captain before finally returning home, although without Bucky Barnes at his side. It was a year before Commissioner Fury was able to convince him to start skating again. The NHL was putting together a new team and they were looking for some new faces. Long story short, the Avengers were assembled as one of the most interesting and diverse teams to date, including the groundbreaking addition of female superstar Natasha Romanoff. Steve and Phil had come together on that front, lobbying hard for her inclusion, and although she remains the only female in the league, it’s a foot in the door for other female athletes.

All this has garnered a healthy amount of respect from Phil. Still, he keeps himself professional at all times and, unless he’s told anyone face-to-face, no one would suspect that he’s harboring more than just respect.

“Shouldn’t you be with your team?” Phil asks.

“Well, it’s not like we have to fly out anywhere tomorrow,” Steve says with a shrug. “We don’t have another game for three days and it’s another Home game, so… I’ve got some free time.”

“And you thought you’d spend it in a nearly empty parking lot in five below temperatures?” Phil presses.

Steve chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, to be fair, I kinda thought you’d be out before now.”

“Something you wanted to discuss, then,” Phil deduces, unlocking his car from the remote in his hand.

“Something I’d like to ask,” Steve corrects him. “Are you busy?”

“No,” Phil answers. “Why don’t you get in the passenger’s side and warm up for a minute.”

He’s surprised when Steve agrees to the suggestion. At the satisfied sigh he hears from the other man, he’s glad he had the presence of mind to start his car while he was still a ways off. Why the captain couldn’t have just phoned him or at the very least waited in his own car with the heat on is beyond Phil.

“So, I was thinking I hadn’t seen much of you since we formed the team,” Steve begins. “Outside of when you’re busy sticking me in the sin bin.”

“You earned the penalty, Rogers, you know it,” Phil says with a cluck of his tongue.

“I know, I know,” Steve says with a smile. “Anyway, what I’m getting at is that I really don’t get a chance to see you anymore. I’d like to change that.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Phil confesses.

“I was wondering if you might like to have a drink with me sometime,” Steve says.

Phil can only stare.

“You’d like to have a drink,” he echoes. “With me.”

“Yeah. You know… like a date?” Steve fishes, beginning to look uncertain.

“I’m…”

Phil pauses, looking out the window and then back to Steve as he tries to wrap his mind around the idea. Steve Rogers is in his car, had waited outside freezing his ass off for god knows how long, to ask him out on a date.

“I’m not sure that would be appropriate,” Phil says slowly. “With our positions.”

Steve licks his lips.

“Look, if I’ve made an incorrect assumption that you were—“

“I am,” Phil says quickly, cutting him off. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought you were.”

“You remember a while back, Chara and I were doing some work with You Can Play? Well, it’s a little more personal for me,” Steve says quietly. “I don’t talk about it publicly, but, you know, maybe it would be better if I did.”

“So people stop assuming you and Romanoff are sleeping together?” Phil asks.

“That would be one benefit,” Steve answers with a smile. He ducks his head. “So… I take it you’re not interested, then.”

“I’m beyond interested,” Phil chuckles. “It’s just… you’re a player. I’m an official. There would be talk of bias. There would be talk beyond that.”

“I don’t care,” Steve says. “The things people might say about me don’t bother me.”

“I could lose my job,” Phil continues. “Who would want an official who sleeps with the players?”

“Who said anything about sleeping with me?” Steve says with raised eyebrows.

Phil opens his mouth and shuts it almost immediately. He can feel his face heating up. It’s like their first meeting all over again; he’s gone and stuck his foot in his mouth. He’s about to start spouting apologies when Steve grins at him and claps him on the shoulder.

“I’m teasing,” he says.

Phil huffs and shrugs his hand off. “God, I wish I could give you penalties off the ice, too.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks.

He’s leaning across the divide and his eyes are too goddamn blue to be fair and Phil’s only human, really. He takes a deep breath.

“One drink,” he says. “And we’ll see how it goes. We have to be discreet.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Steve says. “That, and you have to call me Steve.”

“Steve. Right,” Phil says, clearing his throat. “First names, then. When do you want to meet?”

“I was thinking now, actually,” Steve says, looking a little abashed by the admission.

“Now. Now’s good,” Phil agrees, nodding quickly.

* * *

Steve taps the back of Phil’s skates with his stick, grabbing the other man’s attention.

“I thought you wanted to be discreet?” he asks, his tone teasing.

“I do,” Phil answers with raised eyebrows.

“Really? Flowers at my spot in the locker room are your idea of discreet?” Steve goes on, grinning from ear to ear.

Phil rolls his eyes. “It’s not like anyone would know who they’re from. Give me some credit.”

“Okay, but now I’ve got Tony going on about my ‘secret admirer.’ You _know_ he’s going to find out,” Steve says.

“Stark’s persistent, I’ll give him that, but so long as we’re careful we’ll be fine,” Phil answers. He claps Steve on the back. “Commercial break’s over. Back to work.”

* * *

Phil eyes the empty rink dubiously.

“And you accuse me of lacking discretion,” he says.

“No one’s here,” Steve assures him. “No one’s _going_ to be here. Believe me, I made sure.”

“Someone might still see. Maintenance workers, security, if there are cameras on…” Phil rattles.

“We can always do something else,” Steve offers. “We probably spend enough time on the ice anyway, right?”

Phil stares out across the empty rink. It’s not that this isn’t stupidly romantic—it is—or that he doesn’t go for that sort of thing—he does—it’s just that… the risks involved are totaling more than he can count. A very large part of him feels badly for that; it must seem to Steve that’s he’s gone into this whole thing with clenched teeth for all the fuss he’s put up. But it’s just the politics of the situation. No, Phil doesn’t have any qualms about being gay and out, but in a situation like this he knows they’re breaking every rule in the book. Strangely, that doesn’t seem to bother Steve.

“No, no, this is great,” he says, offering a small smile. He takes the man’s offered hand and steps onto the ice. He has to try his utmost not to laugh when the captain takes hold of both his hands and begins skating backwards around the rink, taking Phil right along with him. “I have to say, it’s been a long time since someone’s skated me around a rink like this.”

“People say I’m a little too old fashioned,” Steve says, managing to look somewhat embarrassed by the admission. “Maybe they’re right.”

Phil listens to the sound of their skates on the ice, oddly loud in the empty arena, and squeezes the hands holding his.

“To be honest, I could use a little old fashioned,” he says softly.

The self-conscious, but infinitely pleased smile he gets in return is so very unlike the persona the man has on the ice. This isn’t Captain Rogers, number four, star forward for the Avengers and one of the top players in the league. This isn’t even the soldier who had gone off to war. This is just Steve, just plain old Steve, and Phil can’t help but feel privileged to have been allowed to see him like this.

“You should smile like that more often.”

The other man’s voice breaks his thoughts.

“I’m sorry?” Phil says.

“You were smiling,” Steve says. “Just now. I don’t know what about, but it was… different. Relaxed. It looks good on you.”

Phil wonders if it would be too cliché to say that seeing Steve smile is the cause of his own.

It turns out it isn’t.

* * *

“Odinson, Laufeyson, break it up,” Phil barks.

He squeezes between the estranged brothers, pushing at both their chests in an effort to separate them. But Loki continues to chirp and Thor continues to grab at him and they’re really not getting anywhere at all. In fact, both teams seem to be in the mood to clear the benches and Phil prays to whatever deity is listening that they all manage to keep in mind that they’re supposed to be professionals and there are only four officials on the ice to deal with all of them.

“Laufeyson, you’re already looking at an instigator, do yourself a favor and don’t dig yourself a deeper hole,” Phil admonishes.

The two shake separate, still glaring daggers at one another as Phil grips Thor’s bicep and begins steering him away.

“You would have done better to let us fight,” Thor informs him as they wade through the still-grappling teams.

“I’d prefer not to have a bloodbath on my hands,” Phil says, letting go. “You’re all wound tight enough as it is, we don’t need to cart anyone off the ice in a stretcher.”

Apparently, Phil speaks too soon, in this case. He feels the blow to his head almost in conjunction with the sensation of hitting the ice. He can’t see anything, but there’s shouting and the sudden roar of the crowd like a dull throb in the back of his head. There’s a loud ringing drowning anything else out, and then, mercifully, nothing.

* * *

Based on how he feels when consciousness returns to him, Phil expects to see a hospital room when he wakes. What he does _not_ expect to see is a hospital room crammed full of sleeping hockey players.

“There wasn’t anyone to contact,” a voice says softly to his left. “And we couldn’t just leave you alone.”

Phil winces as he turns his head, squinting even against the dim lights. Steve offers what is probably meant to be a reassuring smile, but comes across as anything but with the shiner, split lip and stitches he’s sporting.

“What happened?” Phil mumbles.

“Thor’s brother wasn’t happy with the fact that Thor hadn’t fought him, so he decided to fix that. You got in the way,” Steve explains.

“Mmn. And after that?” Phil asks.

“I… lost my temper,” Steve says slowly, looking down.

“Discreet,” Phil murmurs. “Supposed to be discreet.”

“You weren’t moving. You hit the ice and you weren’t moving. It hardly looked like you were _breathing_ ,” Steve says, sounding frustrated. “Discreet wasn’t an option when they had to cart you off the ice and fly you over here.”

From what it sounds like, Steve had gone and done the stupidly valiant thing of wailing on another player in defense of his honor… or something. He’s having a hard time stringing thoughts together, if he’s being honest.

“It was kind of what we needed, though. That hit on you cleared the benches,” Steve goes on to say. “Really spurred the guys on.”

“You won?” Phil questions.

“Come from behind win,” Steve says proudly. He clears his throat, looking a little anxious. “I have a hearing at the end of the week. Suspended until then.”

Phil sighs loudly, letting his eyes slip shut. “Steve.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Steve says, laying a hand atop his. “But look at the bright side: I’ll have a lot of free time to spend with you while you recover.”

“This wasn’t some sort of attempt to impress me, was it?” Phil asks.

“No, it wasn’t to impress you,” Steve answers. Phil can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I care about you. Laufeyson crossed the line and I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. I couldn’t ride with you to the hospital, couldn’t convince them to let me into your room without revealing our relation to each other… but I could be an Avenger.”

Phil hums quietly. He understands. But he wonders… will anyone suspect them after this? Will people wonder why Steve Rogers has decided to camp out in his hospital room?

“So I’m thinking,” comes Steve’s voice, quiet and nearly at his ear, “that when they discharge you, I take you back to your place and we spend the next couple of days just holed up in your apartment. Get the Netflix queue going, I’ll cook us something for dinner. Later I’m going to take you to bed and if you want to keep watching whatever we have going, that’s fine, and if not, well, I’m sure we can find something else to do.”

“You’re a keeper,” Phil mumbles.

“Promise?”

“Mmm.”

There’s a kiss to his cheek and a quiet command to rest and he doesn’t fight it. There will be time later to consider the negative ramifications of recent events, but for the time being he’s fine with this strange little romance continuing on its merry way.


	6. Fight Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Steve find themselves pitted against Grant when an Asgardian artifact ignites the lingering effects of the Berserker Staff.

“He’s not himself right now,” Phil says, gripping his forearm. “You have to go easy on him.”

Steve hurriedly shoves Phil behind him, shielding them both from the attack. He doesn’t need to be told twice; Grant Ward is an agent, an ally and, more importantly, a member of Phil’s team. What’s happening now isn’t his fault and certainly not something he wants, but how were they to know that finding that Asgardian artifact would ignite the lingering effects of the Berserker Staff?

“Any luck finding the…”

“Night Night Pistol.”

“I’m not calling it that,” Steve grunts, using his shield to shove Grant away and doing so hard enough that the man staggers.

“That’s its name,” Phil says. “And no, not yet.”

“Any chance you can expedite that process?” Steve inquires, shoving Grant back again. “There’s only so long we can keep pushing him back.”

“Yes, well, not all of us are super soldiers and being picked up and thrown across a room by a guy on some Asgardian power trip actually _hurts_ ,” Phil grouses. “It’s hard to look when there’s two of everything.”

“Wait, what? How badly were you—“

His moment of distraction costs them both as Grant comes charging towards them, and as Steve tries to shove him away again, he finds himself caught. The agent grabs his wrist and drags him forward before flipping him. Phil really hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the effects of the Berserker Staff effectively caused Grant to Hulk out because right now Steve is airborne, limbs flailing as he sails into a pile of debris. More falls on top of him with his impact and he’s forced to dig his way out.

When he does, he can see the two agents squared off; Grant is stalking towards Phil with fire in his eyes as Phil attempts to talk him down. Phil has a gun. He could use it. But he won’t. Because using that gun means injuring a member of his team, and he won’t have it. But that doesn’t mean Steve will just let this play out. With a grunt, he pulls himself free of the debris and tugs his shield out with him. Just as Phil’s back hits the wall behind him, Steve hurls his shield.

It’s enough to stop Grant as it whizzes by between them, but what really catches Steve’s attention is Phil. The older agent drops to a crouch, grabs what can only be the Night Night Pistol off the floor, aims and fires point blank at Grant’s chest. The younger agent jerks with the blow before swaying on his feet and toppling forward, landing with a heavy thud. Steve hurries forward as Phil kneels at his teammate’s side.

“He down for the count?” Steve asks, kneeling beside Phil.

“Should be,” Phil murmurs.

They roll the young man onto his back and Phil checks his pulse before laying a hand on Grant’s forehead. He’s pale, clammy to the touch and groaning faintly. Ordinarily a single round from the Night Night Pistol would put anyone out of commission, but given the circumstances, it’s a little more understandable that he’s not at black-out levels of unconsciousness.

“Grant, can you hear me?” Phil asks.

The agent groans softly in response, eyelids fluttering. The worried frown on Phil’s face smooths out and he sighs in relief, patting his subordinate on the chest.

“You’re alright. I had to use a round from the Night Night Pistol on you, but you’re going to be fine. Captain Rogers and I are going to take you back to the Bus and Jemma’s going to patch you up,” Phil says. “It’s alright to sleep, don’t fight it.”

Grant murmurs something unintelligible before apparently taking Phil’s advice and allowing the effects of the round to take over. That done, Phil sighs and rocks back on his heels—before falling flat on his ass. Steve looks over at him, clucking his tongue.

“You said you were fine,” he says in a disapproving tone.

“I _am_ fine,” Phil snorts. “Now, help me get him up.”

“Don’t bother, I have him,” Steve responds.

He scoops Grant up easily enough, hefting him over his shoulder before standing and offering Phil his hand. The agent complies, allowing the soldier to tug him upright, but makes a dissatisfied noise when a guiding hand is left on his shoulder.

“Stop fussing,” Phil says.

“I’m not fussing,” Steve argues as they start walking. “You’re practically cross-eyed.”

“You’re exaggerating. Focus on my agent, please,” Phil says, failing to walk a straight line all the same.

“No. You know what?”

Later, when Steve thinks back on the scene, he’ll laugh at the noise Phil makes as he’s scooped up and tossed over Steve’s other shoulder. The agent squirms, doing his best to convince Steve to put him down, but the soldier isn’t having any of it.

“Relax. The fight’s over, and you’re a little banged up, so I’m just making sure you get back to your team safely,” Steve assures him, patting him on the rear.

“The fight may be over, but if you don’t put me down I’ll be looking to start another one,” Phil says moodily.

Considering Phil’s fights usually involve whipping his ass at Scrabble and offering hot chocolate as a consolation prize, Steve’s willing to take his chances.


	7. Get Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma can't say she's seen Phil this angry before.

Jemma can’t say she’s seen Phil this angry before. Even remembering how cross he’d been when she’d jumped out of the Bus in an attempt to save them doesn’t seem to compare to what she’s seeing now. The thing of it is, it’s all in the subtleties. It’s in the fact that he appears to be so utterly calm when, in fact, making eye contact with him causes her insides to wither.

“Simmons, what’s his status?”

If his words were any sharper, she could have cut herself on them. He’s not angry at her, no, she knows this, but she can’t help but flinch all the same. She turns her eyes back to her patient.

Steve Rogers had gone missing nearly a month ago after he and Clint Barton had been separated during a mission. They recovered Clint two weeks back and, thankfully, he’s recovering steadily. Unfortunately, he could only offer so much on Steve’s potential whereabouts. Unsurprisingly, Phil has been pushing continually in an effort to make sure both of them are found and while Clint’s rescue had done a great deal to ease some of his worry, the fact that Steve had still been missing and the people responsible for Clint’s condition had gone unpunished thus far meant their team leader was wound particularly tight.

The joint effort between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers had finally paid off when they got a few different leads on Steve’s whereabouts. Phil had taken them to pursue this one, while the Avengers followed up on the second. Jemma isn’t sure if it’s better or worse that they were the ones to find him.

“Heavily sedated, pulse weaker than I would care for, but steady,” Jemma rattles off, doing a quick, precursory examination. “Wounds in various stages of healing, but nothing life threatening.”

“And what about these machines?” Phil asks, gesturing to the various tubes and wires connecting Steve to medical equipment. “Can they be safely removed?”

“I believe so, sir, but should we do that, he’ll be in quite a lot of pain when he awakes,” Jemma points out.

They both look up at the sound of shouting outside the room. Phil looks back to her.

“I’m going to go take care of that. I want him off these machines by the time I’m back,” he says.

“But sir—“

“ _Do it_ ,” he says, his voice raised in agitation.

She nods her head in acceptance and watches him stalk off towards the doors. With the sound of gunshots and screams and explosions as her soundtrack, she does away with the many tubes and wires as quickly as safety will allow. He struggles against the ventilator as she removes it and she hushes him, carding gentle fingers through sweat drenched hair. At last, he’s free from them entirely and beginning to regain consciousness.

At just that moment, Phil re-enters the room. Jemma feels a spike of panic when she sees the sheer amount of blood soaked into his clothes, but he waves her off when she attempts to find any injuries.

“It’s not mine,” he says by way of clarification.

“Oh. That’s… good,” Jemma responds.

Really, though, the statement isn’t as reassuring as he likely thinks it was.

“How is he?” Phil asks, quickly moving to the soldier’s side.

“Slowly beginning to regain consciousness,” Jemma answers. “His body works off pain killers and sedatives at a much faster rate than ours do, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he wakes in the next minute or so.”

“And how much pain will he be in?” Phil asks, looking around the room for something.

“It’s difficult to say,” Jemma admits. “Regardless of personal tolerance, from what I can see that’s been done to him, anyone would be in an alarming amount of pain.”

“Right,” Phil answers distractedly, pushing over a wheelchair. “Then we’ll just have to get him out of here as quickly as possible.”

“Sir, I think I should mention…” Jemma says, biting on her lower lip worriedly. “It seems to me that what they were doing here was testing his pain tolerance and healing capabilities. I’m not sure how many injuries may have been inflicted in the past month that he’s already healed from.”

“I understand,” Phil says, pulling sheets from a nearby cabinet. He pauses, as though remembering something and touches her shoulder as he nears. “Thank you.”

Jemma shakes her head. “Not necessary.”

He’ll have a talk with her later, but for now they need to get out. Steve is coming round, groaning now and again as he works his way towards lucidity. Jemma watches, feeling like an outside observer to something private, something intimate that isn’t meant for her eyes. But she resists the urge to shy away. There’s something to be said about the way Phil’s eyes soften when Steve opens his, or the way he leans in to speak to him in quiet, reassuring tones.

“You’ve got red on you,” Steve mumbles.

Phil gives the man on the table a small smile packed to the brim with unimaginable relief and crushing concern. And perhaps he’s a little flustered by the fact that Steve’s first words have to be a movie quote.

“I guess so,” Phil agrees. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“Bit, yeah,” Steve answers, eyes sliding shut. “Clint…?”

“Picked him up two weeks ago. He’s doing better,” Phil tells him. For a moment, Jemma sees him overcome with what she can only guess is guilt. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to get to you sooner.”

Steve turns his head, fumbles for Phil’s hand. “Not your fault.”

Phil sighs and shakes his head, unwilling to forgive himself as readily as Steve does. He gives in and allows himself a brief moment of unprofessional behavior, wherein he places a kiss on the soldier’s forehead and smooths back his hair.

“Come on, let’s get you sitting up. Agent Simmons and I are going to get you out of here,”

“Simmons…?” Steve mumbles as Phil helps him sit up.

“Yes, right here, Captain,” Jemma says, reaching out to help in the process.

Steve screws his eyes shut as they pull him upright, his jaw clenched as he breathes heavily. The pain is setting in as the sedatives rapidly wear off. The soldier leans into Phil, waiting for the moment to pass.

“How are you?” Steve grits out.

If it had been any other time, Jemma might have laughed. Because of course, regardless of what kind of situation he’s in, Steve Rogers is going to be polite and respectful towards her. Phil just rolls his eyes.

“I’m well, thank you,” she says instead, smiling back at him.

“Are you and Sitwell still…?”

Jemma blushes like mad and finds herself thankful that he’d had to cut himself off as Phil helped him from the table. Steve wobbles unsteadily, looking fit to keel over were it not for Phil holding him up. The agent bears most of the other man’s weight as he eases Steve into the wheelchair and quickly wraps him in the blankets he’d procured. The soldier is pale and shivering, his eyes pinched with pain, but still he’s doing his best to keep it together.

“Simmons, think you can push the wheelchair while I take point?” Phil asks her.

“Of course,” she agrees readily.

Steve doesn’t look happy at having been reduced to a state where he can’t even walk out of this place under his own power, but there’s not much that can be done for it. Phil walks ahead of them, gun drawn and posture ready for any obstacles they might come across.

“How has he been?”

The question catches her off guard. Steve’s head is tipped back and he watches her with weary eyes.

“Worried,” Jemma says honestly. “Between you and Agent Barton, it’s been hard.”

“Bet he’s been a nightmare,” Steve says with huff of laughter chased by a wince and a hiss.

“It’s understandable,” she says. “No one can really blame him.”

She tries not to look at what she can only think of as carnage as they pass through the halls. The thought that Phil had done this—alone—and had sustained minimal injury was almost too frightening to contemplate. The idea that someone as calm and well put together, a man as good as he was, could do all this was…

“He’s scary when he’s angry, huh?” Steve asks.

Scary doesn’t even begin to cover it. If there is one thing she’s learned during her time on the Bus, it’s that you don’t do anything to compromise the safety of Phil’s people without putting a target on your back. It’s both a comforting and terrifying thought. The lengths that her superior is willing to go to in order to ensure their safety is, frankly, alarming. It’s almost difficult to believe he’s even capable of all this. He seems too friendly, too fatherly, too intent on keeping matters peaceful to shed this much blood. But here they are.

When they clear the compound and Grant comes to a screeching halt in front of them with a company car, Jemma is only too glad to leave the place behind.

* * *

It’s hours later—how many, she doesn’t know—when she sees both of them again. In the space of the time since they’d returned, Jemma has been debriefed, showered, had something to eat at Jasper’s insistence, and afforded herself a little time to cuddle before Jasper was, inevitably, called back to work. So she finds herself wandering towards the infirmary until she finds where Phil has posted himself like some sort of watchman between Steve and Clint’s beds. Or he would be a watchman if he were awake to actually see anything.

The three occupants of the room are all sleeping soundly and she stops to check on each of them. She pulls a blanket from the closet and drapes it over Phil as gently as possible, knowing that one wrong move will result in waking him and Lord she does not want that. Steve is rolled on his left side, one hand extended to the edge of the bed and clasped in Phil’s.

At the very least, Phil has taken the time to shower and change so that he doesn’t come across as some blood-soaked vision of the apocalypse, but even then it’s a hard image to shake. Everyone has been rescued, however, and they’ve all returned home, so she decides to focus on that instead. She focuses on how many nights she had seen Phil by Clint’s bedside and the way his anger had softened at the sight of Steve gazing back up at him.

It’s no stretching of the truth to say that his behavior over the past month has both worried and frightened her, but she can’t claim to not understand where it comes from. Families come in many shapes and sizes and while people like she and Leo have mothers and fathers and siblings and extended families to speak of, people like Phil do not. People like Phil and Skye and Clint and Steve and Natasha have the families that they’ve built for themselves. Jemma would do anything for her family, for the people she loves, so it’s not really all that surprising that this month has been trying for all of them. Getting Clint and Steve back was the only option Phil was willing to consider. She doesn’t blame him.

There will be time to talk later—and she’s got a feeling Phil will want to—but for now everyone has more than earned their rest and she’s only too happy to leave them to it.


	8. Haunt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And why must this specter haunt him? Why dangle a vision of salvation in front of him when he knows there is none to be had? Why this man? Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. S01E11 "The Magical Place."

Reality has become subjective.

He could be in his bed, or he could be strapped to an operating table. Perhaps the hands he feels aren’t there to comfort him, but rather to hold him down. He can’t say whether the words he hears are truthful, meant to console him, or if they’re another lie to add to the pile, soothing at first whisper but meant only to placate.

Sand. Sea. Hands.

Table. Antiseptic. Hands.

Bed. Aftershave. Hands.

It’s all a swirling, convoluted mess. His mind is like a tangled ball of yarn with strings being tugged in every direction, tightening the knots in the process. It hurts. Whether the pain is real or imagined, something dredged up from his patchwork memories or something present, it hurts him. His pleas for death, for an end to the pain, inspire shame in him. The knowledge that he has been reduced to this pathetic, begging _thing_ makes him as ill as the pain does.

The operating table again. His breath stutters when blue eyes enter his vision, the harsh overhead lights framing golden hair like some sort of unholy imitation of a halo.

_Not real._

His mind whispers to him.

The concerned face above him, the hands framing his face, the thumbs brushing away the tears as they fall from the corners of his eyes. The sweet, honeyed words cutting through his own screams.

_He’s not real._

He sobs as the words cut as deep as that scepter ever did.

_You want to be saved so you dreamt someone up to save you._

Of course. Of course, that makes sense. He’s alone. He’s always been alone—… but no, not truly alone. He’s had people in his life before. People he’s no longer allowed to see. People who aren’t allowed to know he’s alive. He has people now, different people. He cares for all of them, would do anything for them, but… none of them can see him like this. None of them can be allowed in. He can’t ask this of them.

The hands persist, touching him, massaging gently. Tahiti. Tahiti, right? But no… no, not that place. He’s not in that place, is he? He’s being asked to come back, but he doesn’t want to. God, he doesn’t want to. It hurts again. It’s like he’s being split open. Like a lobster, after you crack its shell and rend it open with your bare hands. Pulling savagely until he cracks and breaks. Exposing his insides. Exposing deep, deep down where no one is supposed to see. But they do see. They see every part of him, lay it out bare and bloody and screaming like a newborn child. Why does living have to hurt so much more than dying ever did?

A kiss.

To his forehead, to his cheeks. And why must this specter haunt him? Why dangle a vision of salvation in front of him when he knows there is none to be had? Why this man? Why?

There is sunlight when he wakes. An empty bed with tangled sheets greets him. An empty room, an empty home. Silent, still. He shivers, his skin tacky with old sweat, and draws his knees up to his chest, resting his head against them. He feels hollowed out; as empty as the bed in which he sits.

Footsteps. His name hanging in the air. A dip in the bed, strong arms around him. He pulls away to see, to make sure this is real. He reaches out, cups the face before him and has his palm nuzzled in return.

_This is real._

Maybe he says this out loud, maybe the other man can simply read it off him, but he gets a response. Yes. Yes, this is real. Of course this is real. No, he’s not going anywhere, would never dream of it.

Hands drag him forward when it becomes too much to bear. A shoulder supports his head when he can’t hold it up and takes all of his tears when he can’t hold back his sobs. A powerful embrace holds him together as he quickly falls apart and lends strength where he has none.

He’s kissed like he’s someone worth kissing and loved like he’s someone who deserves it and there is nothing left in him to argue either of these points.


	9. Invite Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's weekend plans just got interesting.

Steve ducks down a hallway when his cell phone starts ringing. Fishing it out of his pocket, he turns away from the hustle and bustle of passersby and holds it up to his ear.

“Rogers,” he answers.

_“Have I caught you at a bad time?”_

Steve allows himself a smile at the voice on the other end. He doesn’t always know when he’ll get a call from Phil, but when he does it tends to improve his day.

“No, now’s fine,” he replies. “How are things in Ireland?”

_“Wet,”_ Phil says. _“Primarily uneventful as far as these things go. Most of us are just looking forward to being someplace warm and dry. How are things Stateside?”_

“Not bad,” Steve says, shrugging his shoulders despite knowing the agent can’t see the action. “A few little errands here and there, but nothing too stressful.”

_“Errands, huh?”_

“Well, it doesn’t seem right to call them _missions_ ,” Steve clarifies. “They were all little things, really.”

_“Uh-huh. And how many injuries did you sustain during these so-called errands?”_

“It wasn’t that bad,” Steve says defensively. “Honestly, Phil, you’d think I’d never run a solo-mission before with the way you talk.”

_“We’re going to talk about this later, Steve,”_ Phil assures him. _“But the reason I called was because I was wondering if you were free this weekend.”_

“Barring anything coming down from Fury, I’m free,” Steve answers.

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line and Steve is half expecting Phil to announce that Fury can very well go fuck himself if it interferes with whatever he has planned. The past year or so has been… tense. What with the reveal that Phil was actually alive, followed by the reveal of exactly _how_ that had happened, followed by the utter outrage over the lengths gone through to keep it a secret, not just from them, but from Phil himself, well, it was understandable. Fury isn’t the only one to blame, but with the kind of cruelty he’d pushed on a man that was supposed to be his oldest friend, Steve could understand why the relationship may have suffered irreparable damage.

As it is, they’re all trying to repair the damage caused by this deceit. Incidentally, the repair had led to he and Phil seeking a more… intimate relationship. Now, about six months in, Steve can honestly say this is something he’d never envisioned, but something he’s unendingly grateful has occurred.

_“The team’s been worn a little thin lately, I think,”_ Phil says at last. _“I suggested a weekend movie marathon.”_

Steve has to laugh. “A whole weekend?”

_“Well, I figured we could go out to eat at least one night and Jasper’s agreed to help make dinner the second night,”_ Phil explains. _“May plans to park the Bus on an island we happened on about ten years back. So, lounging on the beach during the day, a bonfire and some s’mores at night, and movie watching in-between. Basically, I’m proposing a weekend of being as lazy as humanly possible.”_

“To be honest, I think I could use a weekend of being as lazy as humanly possible,” Steve admits.

_“So you’ll come?”_

“Count on it.”

_“I’ll be back Wednesday and we’ll be leaving Friday. If you’re not busy between then…”_

“Oh, believe me, I’ve got plans for you. What you suggested sounds nice, but you’re forgetting I haven’t seen you in almost a month. The only way we’re leaving your bed between Wednesday and Friday is to use the bathroom.”

_“You don’t plan on eating?”_ Phil queries, sounding amused.

“Sure I do. I bought a few cans of whipped cream, some chocolate syrup, strawberries…”

He trails off and has to smother a chuckle when he hears a strangled noise from the other end of the line. Sounds like his plans have been met with approval.

“So, what do you say?” he asks.

_“I say that it’s a damn shame we haven’t invented teleportation yet,”_ Phil answers.

Steve grins. “Just get home safe.”

_“I will. I’ll talk to you—… yes, Skye, he’s coming. Yes, for real. No, I haven’t been **hiding** him from any of you, what does that even mean? Steve, I have to go. The kids are being nosy.”_

“Tell them I said ‘hello,’” Steve answers with a chuckle.

Phil ends the call, but not before telling Steve they would talk again soon, when the atmosphere was more private. Steve weighs his phone in his hand, smile still fixed in place. It’s not what he’d been expecting from his weekend, but he’s very far from complaining.


	10. Join Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These outings had always been Phil and Lola's. Until they were Phil and Lola and Steve's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based _super_ loosely off of the His Majesty's Dragon series (which I highly recommend if the Napoleonic War fought on the backs of dragons sounds appealing to you, which it should because, dude, dragons and history).
> 
> **ALSO PLEASE NOTE BEFORE YOU READ.** There is... sort of a MPreg kink in here, but no actual MPreg? Kind of? I don't usually write along those topics, so I don't know how to tag it, so if anything even remotely close to that genre is not your thing, then maybe don't read. Maybe don't read it anyway because I have no idea what I'm doing.

It takes time for Steve to hunt Phil down. Granted, he knows the agent has just returned from a long mission and Buster—or Bus, if one is feeling affectionate—will need time to rest, along with his crew. Steve and his team have been grounded for several days after Avenger had been grounded with a wounded wing. It would be some time yet before they were able to get in the air again and the past week had put him on edge.

The fact of the matter is, Steve and Phil haven’t crossed paths in almost two months. He knows it’s the nature of the job, but really, two months is quite a long time. So when he sees the agent from across the yard, he hurries right over, not bothering to hide his eagerness.

“How was your mission?” he asks.

Phil looks up from the documents on the clipboard he’s hurriedly signing and offers a warm smile, gladly accepting the kiss the Steve plies him with.

“Long. Boring,” Phil answers. “Mostly uneventful.”

“ _Steven_.”

Steve would recognize that voice anywhere. Although not the great black behemoth of a dragon that Buster is, Lola is still very impressive in her own right. She’s of far smaller stature, able to carry four or five people at most, but known to everyone as Phil’s pride and joy. Personally owning a dragon is rare outside of the lucky ones who come to captain the crew of one, and so Lola tends to stand out. With her cherry red hide and smooth white belly and underwings, she’s a true thing of beauty. The over-protective dragon had been hatched and raised by Phil himself, so although the agent had no children to speak of, earning Lola’s approval had taken Steve quite a bit of time.

Now, she comes hurrying around the bend, nostrils flared and tail twitching in agitation, and he knows he’s in for trouble. Phil seems to have expected this, as he rolls his eyes and sighs wearily.

“He was _injured_ ,” Lola protests, her silver eyes flashing. “He says it was long and boring—and that part is mostly true, it was dreadfully dull—but by the end of it there was a whole mess of fighting and he was hurt. Phillip, show him your arm.”

“I’m not showing him my arm,” Phil says, his tone unyielding as he hands the completed paperwork off to another agent.

“Steven, make him see reason,” Lola implores, nudging him with her snout. “You are very good at that. Do that thing with your eyes.”

Steve frowns disapprovingly at the idea that Phil had intended to hide some sort of injury from him.

“Yes! Like that!” Lola praises. “He cannot stand it when you do that.”

“It wasn’t even anything serious,” Phil says. “If anything, Ward got the worst of it.”

“You can say that again,” Grant grumbles, hobbling past with Leo’s assistance.

“She’s gotten herself all worked up the whole trip back,” Jemma tuts, coming up behind them. “I cleaned and dressed the wound myself. There really is nothing too serious about it.”

“Charlatan! I demand a second opinion,” Lola declares, smacking her tail against the ground like a gavel.

“Lola, we’ve discussed antagonizing my team,” Phil warns with a heavy sigh.

Lola deflates somewhat at that, blowing smoke rings out her nose in a pouty manner. By way of apology, she stretches out a wing and gently pats Jemma on the head, mostly because she doesn’t actually enjoy saying the words “I’m sorry” when she doesn’t think she should have to. Steve can only shake his head and smile, as he observes Jemma attempt to assure the dragon that she wasn’t offended and that her concern is understandable.

Phil, in the meantime, scrubs a hand over his face and resists the urge to sigh yet again at the actions of his scaly, five ton, petulant child. As exasperated as he is, it tends to work both ways. The number of times Steve has heard the agent use the phrase “Don’t touch Lola” must be up in the thousands by now. Lola may be overly protective of Phil, but dragons tend to adopt the habits of their owners—something Phil seems to overlook.

“How about we take a quick trip to medical so the doctors there can tell us that Jemma was right and there’s nothing wrong with it. And if there _is_ something wrong, we get it taken care of,” Steve suggests. “Everyone wins. Sound good?”

“Careful,” May says, brushing past, her lips curled up ever so slightly at the edges in amusement. “You’ll spoil her.”

“I am not _spoiled_ ,” Lola counters, snorting. “I am apparently the only one with the ability to think reasonably.”

“You are overreacting,” comes Buster’s booming voice from above them. “And some of us have had a very tiring flight and would like to sleep. Hello, Steven.”

“Hi, Bus,” Steve says in greeting, reaching up to run a hand along the dragon’s snout when it is offered to him. “Taking good care of everyone?”

“When they are not busy running off into danger, yes,” Buster says with a click of his tongue. “Please take Phillip to the medic, if only so she will stop her whining.”

“You are a brute,” Lola declares, flicking her tongue out at him.

“And you are a child,” Buster counters.

“If only that bullet had killed me,” Phil intones flatly.

Steve tries not to laugh when Lola becomes immediately distressed by this and curls herself around the agent. He _tries_ not to laugh, but in the end even Phil’s answering glare isn’t enough to stop it.

* * *

Steve wakes in the middle of the night when he feels the weight on the bed shift. He bolts upright to find Phil slipping out of bed. The agent offers him an apologetic look, but brooks no argument when Steve holds his arms out, beckoning him to return.

“Where are you going?” the soldier whispers, running his hands up the shorter man’s sides.

“Lola wants to stretch her wings and get something to eat,” Phil explains, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I know it’s late, but I thought maybe I could pack a bag and we could have some privacy.”

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He knows exactly what Phil is referring to. There’s a little spot by a lake that Lola tends to prefer; she will deposit them by a large tree and then disappear for an hour or two while she hunts, giving them privacy for more intimate activities.

“Unless you’re too tired,” Phil tacks on uncertainly.

“Not in the slightest,” Steve answers quickly, rising from the bed with him.

Flying alone with Phil on Lola’s back is something of a privilege. Apparently, until they had begun seeing each other, Phil had always made these trips by himself. There weren’t many people that Phil allowed to fly with Lola and that he was one of them was something that made him feel honored. These trips, which had always been something private and entirely Phil and Lola’s, had been altered to accommodate him. It’s now something he and Phil share, something he looks forward to whenever they’ve been apart for too long.

It doesn’t do much good to try and talk over the wind, so they’re left to hold on to the rigging on Lola’s harness and each other. Really, though, Steve prefers it this way. The journey is made in silence as the landscape beneath them gradually changes from city to rural, moonlight lighting the way. When at last the lake comes into view, Steve finds himself somewhat grateful—the autumn winds are growing colder as they creep towards winter and their time in the air has left him chilled.

“Remember, leave the farms alone,” Phil says warningly as they unpack their things from Lola’s back and help her shrug out of her harness.

“Yes, yes, I know Phillip,” Lola says with the closest approximation of a sigh that a dragon can possibly give. “Leave the fat cows and plump pigs alone.”

“I mean it, Lola,” Phil says. “I don’t want any more angry farmers at my door.”

“Very _well_ ,” Lola says with a snort, smoke curling from her nostrils.

Rather than take off to hunt, as she usually would, Lola sits on her rump before them and doesn’t budge. Steve wonders if she might be contemplating where in particular she might like to look for her meal, but she shows no sign of moving any time soon. He shoots Phil a look and finds the agent appears to be every bit as confused as he is.

“Is there something you’d like to talk about?” Phil ventures.

“Yes,” Lola declares, rustling her wings in what can only be described as a stately manner as she straightens her posture. “Steven, you have been Phillip’s mate for some time now.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Steve says with a slight laugh. Not the words he’d use himself, but no less true.

“I was merely wondering…”

Lola cocks her head, studying them both before looking to Steve.

“When do you intend to breed him?”

Steve’s mouth hangs open as his brain attempts to process the question. Beside him, Phil makes a faint croaking noise as his face turns a pleasant shade of pink. The question in itself is innocent, but no less mortifying to hear.

“I have been asking and it would seem to me that you are taking your time, which is all well and good, only I have given the matter some thought and would very much like a younger brother or sister,” Lola dutifully informs them. “I believe I have proven myself to be a mature and responsible role model and would therefore be well suited to the position.”

Phil opens his mouth to say something and, coming up with a blank, sits himself against the tree and puts his head in his hands. Lola appears suddenly very concerned, and shifts her weight in agitation, smoking rising from her nostrils as her wings twitch worriedly. Steve manages to find his voice and reaches out to console the dragon.

“Lola, why don’t we save this conversation for another time, huh?” he suggests. “It’s really something Phil and I should talk about first.”

She perks up considerably at that.

“Oh, yes, I understand,” Lola answers brightly. “I will leave you now.”

She noses each of them before trotting off and, with a few flaps of her mighty wings, taking off into the sky. Steve runs a hand through his hair and sits beside Phil, his back against the tree. The agent straightens, his face still flush with embarrassment, and meets Steve’s eye with a pained look.

“Steve, I’m sorry,” he says. “She didn’t mean anything by it. Clearly I need to sit her down and have a talk about the differences between humans and dragons.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and massaging his upper arm. “She’s curious, that’s all. For her kind breeding by now would be normal so, really, she’s just concerned for us.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Phil admits. He shakes his head with a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I still can’t believe she asked that.”

“Well,” Steve says, leaning in close, “I hope it didn’t ruin the mood.”

“Hardly,” Phil answers, tipping his head back to kiss the other man. “Help me set up the blankets.”

They’ve perfected their routine over time, knowing just what supplies to bring and just what kind of blankets need to be laid down to make their little excursions comfortable. Steve had long ago grown comfortable with their outdoor activities—there’s no one around for miles. They take their time warming each other up with wandering hands and deep, hungry kisses until at last they lie on their sides, Phil’s leg hooked over Steve’s as the soldier thrusts into him. Maybe it’s that he’s missed Phil for these past two months more than he realizes, and maybe having sex for the first time in as many weeks has tampered with his brain-to-mouth filter, but it doesn’t excuse how the words come tumbling out of him.

“Gonna let me breed you, Phil?” Steve pants, slowly rolling his hips, teasing his partner.

The words are out of his mouth before he realizes. He freezes, scrambling to come up with an apology, but is halted in this process when Phil moans, clenching around him.

“Fuck, Steve, _please_.”

A jolt of pleasure travels from his navel to his cock and he groans, tightening his grip on the shorter man’s hips as he slowly begins thrusting again.

“You like that?” he asks, mouthing at the agent’s shoulder, biting occasionally. “Like when I talk to you like that?”

Phil can only nod, pushing back against him every time he thrusts forward. They’ve done the whole dirty talk thing before and Steve’s learned just what keys the shorter man up, but as strange as it is to admit, apparently Lola’s innocent questioning has opened up an unexplored kink for both of them. Being a man capable of great adaptation, Steve does what he does best and goes with it.

“Gonna breed you just like Lola asked,” Steve growls. He removes his hand from Phil’s hip, but instead of reaching for his partner’s cock, he spreads his hand over the man’s lower abdomen and squeezes possessively. “Pump you full of cum until your belly swells with my baby. What do you think? Huh? You want that, Phil?”

Steve’s cock throbs as Phil _shakes_ with want, moaning loud enough to make Steve thankful they’re miles from people. He’s on the razor’s edge of orgasm and Steve knows that when he comes, he’s going to come hard.

“I want it,” Phil answers, hips moving in tandem with Steve’s.

“You’re gonna get it,” Steve grunts, thrusting with wild abandon. “Gonna get you nice and fat and pregnant on my cum, fill you up with enough for a whole damn litter… fuck, get ready to take it for me.”

“Do it,” Phil begs. “Christ, Steve, do it. I want you to breed me.”

Steve goes off like a gunshot, still keeping pace as he comes hard enough to see stars. Phil quickly follows, jerking and shuddering in Steve’s grasp, writhing as the soldier drives him to completion. It seems like it takes a very long time for each of them to come back down, although pleasure has been known to warp Steve’s perception of time. Still, it seems like ages later that they’re lying in a shivering, panting heap.

“When will there be an egg?”

Lola’s voice catches them off guard, enough so that Steve feels Phil’s whole body stiffen in surprise. He grunts, wishing he’d pulled out before Phil clamped down on his oversensitive cock.

“Lola, go,” Phil says, his voice full of strained patience.

“But Steven said he had bred—“

“I’ve told you about spying,” Phil chastises. “Go cool off in the lake and think about what you’ve done.”

Lola comes out from behind the tree, looking sore for having been told off as she drags herself towards the beach. Phil breathes out a heavy sigh, relaxing at last, and Steve takes the opportunity to pull out. He settles himself beside the other man, running a hand up and down his back. It may not be the best time to address it, but what’s just happened is sort of hanging in the air and rather hard to ignore.

“So, that just happened,” he says.

Not the most eloquent of approaches. Phil turns his head and looks to him questioningly.

“Well, what I mean is,” he tries again, “I don’t really know exactly why I said what I said. Heat of the moment or… something. What I’m getting at is that we usually discuss these kinds of things before hand and I’m sorry I kind of sprung that on you. The whole… breeding thing.”

To his great surprise, Phil shrugs.

“I’m not sure why you’re apologizing,” he says. “I thought it made it very clear that I liked it.”

“Sure,” Steve says slowly. He pauses, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t crossed the line. It’s a little more out there as far as dirty talk goes, for us anyway.”

“If you ever cross the line, you’ll know it, and if for some reason you don’t, then I’ll tell you” Phil says quietly. He watches Lola splash her wings in the water for a time before he deigns to speak again. “I’ve been coming to the spot ever since Lola first learned to fly. I know that I’m overprotective of her, so there are only a few people I trust to ride with her. But out of all of them, I’ve never brought a single one of them here. This has always been my spot. This has always been for me alone. Even other people I’ve seen romantically I never…”

He stops, gives his head a little shake and looks back to Steve once again, resting his head on his folded arms as he lies on his stomach.

“I never brought any of them here. It didn’t feel right,” Phil explains. “And I’ll admit, I surprised myself a little the first time I asked you to join me. I had always intended to keep this as something I didn’t share with other people, but something felt right about asking you. And now I’m glad that it isn’t something I do alone anymore. Because I was. Alone, I mean. I’m beyond thankful that you’ve changed that for me. ”

He levers himself up on his elbows and leans in to plant a quick, chaste kiss on the soldier’s lips. Steve follows him as he retreats, ending with their foreheads pressed together.

“So don’t worry about the things you said earlier,” Phil says. “It was spur of the moment and we both enjoyed it so there’s nothing to be too concerned about. I think we both know there’s no chance of you getting me pregnant, no matter how hard you try.”

Steve snorts a laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

“I am,” Phil says as he begins to rise. “I need to go wash off, so I’m going to take a quick dip in the lake.”

“Mind if I join you?” Steve asks, grinning up at him.

“I’d mind if you didn’t.”

That’s all the encouragement Steve really needs.


	11. Kill Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second chances aren't supposed to work this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CONTENT WARNING:** Major Character Death in this chapter. Zombie/L4D AU.

“We need to talk,” Phil announces.

Steve, Tony and Bruce look up from where they’re gathered at the table. They’ve finally found a safe place to squat for a few hours, or at least until morning. The door, spray painted red, had been like a beacon in the distance after they’d fought tooth and nail to escape the horde of the undead they’d stumbled upon after days of uneasy travel.

“Can we maybe save the plan-of-action talk for _after_ we’ve slept?” Tony snorts. “Seriously, calm down. There are more than enough supplies to hole up here for a few days—“

“This can’t wait,” Phil cuts him off firmly.

“Okay,” Steve says peaceably. “What is it, Phil?”

The man shifts where he stands, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He stands away from the group in a decidedly deliberate fashion, his gaze flickering from them to the floor before he speaks.

“I’ve been bitten,” he says, the muscle in his jaw jumping at the admission.

There’s a moment of horrified silence as the meaning of his words sink in. Steve is the first out of his seat, but Bruce hurries past him, medkit in hand.

“Show me the bite,” the doctor says.

Phil nods dutifully, but his movements are stiff as he sheds his jacket. The deep red stain at his shoulder makes Steve’s blood run cold; it’s still wet, still fresh. The man unbuttons his shirt and peels it back with a wince, the wet fabric clinging to his skin and the wound. Bruce immediately pushes him into a chair and gets to work cleaning the bite mark.

“What happened?” Steve asks numbly. “I thought we all made it through…”

“The Witch,” Tony blurts.

“What about her?” Bruce murmurs, focused on his patient.

“Mr. Stark,” Phil says in a warning tone. “Don’t.”

“Oh my God,” Steve breathes suddenly. “I startled the Witch. Back by the car lot, I startled her and…”

How could he have overlooked it? They had been foraging for supplies. Spying a medkit that had been lost beneath a nearby car, Steve had crept closer, despite the Witch’s cries. She had been close enough for him to see, but far enough so that he was confident she wouldn’t be disturbed by his presence. He’d propped his pack against the car and, lying on his back, he’d shimmied beneath the car until the kit was in his grasp. What he hadn’t anticipated was what happened when he tried to get back out.

Entirely by accident, as he was attempting to slide back out, his foot managed to catch a stray pipe. It had toppled over from where it leaned against a pile of debris, smacking the side of the next car over. Immediately the alarm had sounded. Needless to say, she hadn’t cared much for that and the air had soon been filled with the wail of the car alarm and the shrieks of the undead woman. But Phil—stupid, stupid Phil—had tried to draw her attention away from Steve and in doing so had drawn it to himself. They couldn’t gun her down fast enough and she’d jumped him, cruel claws hacking at him until they were able to finish her off.

It had seemed that she’d only managed to scratch him up quite a bit, but clearly that wasn’t the case. Steve feels sick as makes eye contact with his partner and sees guilt in his eyes. Why should he feel guilty when Steve is to blame?

“Steve, sit down,” Bruce instructs gently. “Tony, get a couple of bottles of water and give one to Steve, please.”

Steve does so, sitting heavily in the chair beside Phil. The shorter man reaches for his hand and Steve obliges, squeezing tightly as Bruce continues to work.

“Let’s not freak out, okay?” Tony says, handing a bottle to Steve before handing the remainder to Bruce. Really, though, he looks like he’s saying it as much for himself as he is for them. “He could be immune like I am. Remember when that happened? We all freaked out and thought I was infected, but it turned out I was immune to the virus the whole time. Maybe Phil’s the same. We’ve just gotta… stay positive. Besides, you’re a tough old bastard, Phil.”

“Don’t call me old.”

“Okay, dad.”

“You’re only a few years younger than I am, Stark.”

“Not according to your hairline.”

They try to keep up their usual banter as Bruce begins dressing the wound, but it all falls flat. Their teasing is lackluster, the reality of the situation hanging heavily over all their heads. At last Bruce is finished and declares that Phil should rest, saying that the three of them can manage the watch without him. It alarms Steve that Phil doesn’t protest, just does as their resident physician suggests and retreats to the bed rolls.

“We’ll just keep an eye on him, I’ll keep on top of the bite with whatever medical supplies we’ve got and hopefully that will be enough,” Bruce says with a weary sigh.

“I just can’t believe I let this happen. Over a stupid medkit,” Steve says, scrubbing a shaking hand across his face.

“Hey, no. Don’t fucking start,” Tony warns him, angrily. “No one lets anything happen these days, they just happen. It’s out of our control. The world’s gone to shit and you do whatever you can and hope you get to see tomorrow. So don’t pull a Bruce because I guarantee Phil will fucking hate you for it.”

Steve remembers, of course, when Tony had been bitten. How Bruce had blamed himself. How it had nearly broken him to think that he might be the reason that Tony would die. Steve now finds himself in that position and knows that Tony’s right, that Phil will hate him for thinking it’s his fault. But it is. He knows he will never be able to convince himself otherwise, just as he knows Bruce has never truly forgiven himself.

“Go be with him,” Bruce says. “I’ve got first watch.”

Steve nods gratefully, retreating to the back of the safe house where Phil is already lying on a bed roll. They don’t say a word, just let their actions speak for themselves. And when Phil needs to be held, Steve holds him and the look in his eyes absolves Steve of any guilt in the matter, but still it remains. Knowing he has to be the strong one here, he kisses the shorter man on the head and waits until he falls asleep to let his tears fall.

* * *

They try to remain optimistic, but the next few days make it very clear that optimism will do nothing for them. So they deny the reality of the situation and press on, trying to convince themselves that Phil might just yet pull through and clinging to even the faintest of possibilities. They hope against hope that if they just give him time he’ll work it out of his system just like Tony had. But Phil’s health steadily declines, day after day, hour after hour, until he can barely keep himself upright. When they stop at another safe house, Phil decides the matter needs to be addressed.

“I think we all know by now that I’m not immune,” he declares, propped up against the wall.

He’s pale and wan, sweating with the fever that is burning him up.

“That might not be true,” Tony argues. “Maybe it’s just taking longer than it did with me.”

“I’m dying, Mr. Stark,” Phil says frankly. “I don’t have much time left.”

The room goes silent, none of them wanting to agree with what they all know to be true.

“That being said, I think it’s time I left,” Phil says.

“What?” Steve nearly shouts. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Phil says slowly, taking a deep breath, “that I’ve weighed all of you down enough. We’ve had some close calls recently because I can no longer carry my weight. I have… a few hours, at most, I think… so I intend to take my pistol, with just one bullet because you’ll need the ammunition, and find a quiet place to die.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Tony spits. “You’re not doing that.”

“Tony,” Bruce says quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Tony smacks his hand away. “You’re not telling me you _agree_ with him?” he asks incredulously.

Bruce looks at once terribly guilty and infinitely saddened.

“He’s not going to get better,” he says softly.

“You don’t know that,” Steve says, shaking his head, trying not to let himself cross the threshold into hysterical. “We don’t _know that yet_.”

“I’m not saying I want this. I want anything _but_ this,” Bruce says, raising his voice. “I’m just saying that maybe you should respect his decision.”

“To go kill himself!?” Steve spits.

“ _Enough_.”

Phil pants even from the effort it takes to shout. His eyes are glassy, his expression pained.

“God knows I don’t want this to be it,” he says breathlessly. “But if I’m going, it’s going to be on my terms. I’m going to die, one way or another, and stopping me from doing this will only serve to let me suffer out the last of it in front of you. And when I come back—which will happen—one of you will have to put me down. And I’m not…”

He pauses, closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths, like he’s not getting enough air.

“Not doing that,” he says.

“No,” Tony says stubbornly. “Do you honestly think we’re going to let you go out there and do this? That we’re okay with you just… going off and dying alone?”

“Yes,” Phil says simply.

“Just… _shut up_ ,” Tony hisses, moisture gathering in his eyes, his voice cracking. “Shut. Up.”

“You’re not going,” Steve adds fiercely.

“And just how do you plan to stop me?” Phil questions, rising on shaky legs.

“Stop, sit down,” Steve says, starting forward. “You need to rest, you—“

He’s surprised when the hand he’d reached to lay on the shorter man’s shoulder is smacked away.

“ _Dammit Steve_ ,” Phil shouts. “Stop pretending this isn’t happening. It’s very much happening and I figured you, out of everyone, would at least respect me enough to give me this.”

“I can’t let you do this,” Steve says, choking the words out.

“Why? Because if you don’t let me do this, you can keep on pretending that it won’t happen? And if it doesn’t happen, it’s not your fault I’m dead?” Phil presses, looking fit to collapse at any moment.

Steve feels sick. It’s true, he can’t stand having to live with the fact that he’s the reason Phil’s dead. No more than he can stand having to go on without Phil there to go on with him. Phil’s expression goes soft, some of the anger leaving him at everyone’s obvious distress over his words.

“Steve, it was never your fault. Stop making this out to be the consequences of anything other than my decision. I did what I wanted and if I had it to do again… if I could do it over a hundred times… I’d choose the same thing every time,” Phil says, leaning against the safe house door. He takes a few, measured breaths before continuing. “But you have to let me go now. Don’t let me… I don’t want to be one of those…”

Phil shakes his head, breathing heavily as he closes his eyes and doesn’t continue. It’s one of the few moments of vulnerability that Steve can pick out from the time they’ve known each other and, quite suddenly, he understands. The idea of going out by anything but his own hand terrifies Phil, because if he doesn’t, if he toughs it out until his last, then he’ll turn into one of those things. In a single moment, Steve understands and he accepts and he mourns.

“I’m going with you,” is his quiet declaration.

“Steve,” Tony intones, his voice warbling unstably. “Steve, don’t.”

“Tony,” Bruce says simply, reaching for him.

The genius pulls away, taking the few steps necessary to bring him to Phil. He fists his hands in the other man’s shirt and looks him dead in the eye. He must see something because he shakes his head, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“It doesn’t have to be over, we can try other things. We could—we could try an infusion of my blood, see if that chases out the infection,” Tony babbles.

“You know it won’t,” Phil says.

“Don’t do this,” Tony pleads. “Please. Don’t go.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil replies, eyes wet. “I’m so sorry.”

A sob escapes Tony’s mouth as he hauls Phil in, warms wrapped around him like his life depends on it. Phil hugs him back with as much strength as his failing body can muster. Tony won’t say goodbye, they all know that; he’d never been very good at goodbyes, really. Goodbyes are concrete, permanent things that the genius never cared to dabble in. Goodbye is giving in, and he’s not going to do that.

At last he pulls away, allowing Bruce to replace him. His embrace is gentler than Tony’s, but no less meaningful. There is a hushed conversation between the two of them and Steve can make out enough to know that Bruce is apologizing—and that Phil is subsequently telling him there’s nothing he needs to seek forgiveness for.

All too soon it seems like Phil and Steve are packing, preparing to make one last journey together. Tony and Bruce watch them go with equal parts resentment and regret.

“I saw a hill a little ways back the way we came,” Phil says. “There was a nice sycamore tree, I remember, I think…”

Steve nods dutifully. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”

He finds himself catching Phil many times along the way, for the man will not be carried but can hardly keep himself upright. He half-carries, half-drags his partner to the sycamore tree in the end, as they reach the hill Phil had described. Steve sets him down gently, propping him up against the trunk. Even the short trip has worn him down considerably and it’s plain to see he isn’t going to last much longer. With a heavy heart, Steve sits beside him and takes the shorter man’s hand in his own, trying to ignore the fact that Phil barely has the strength to squeeze back.

“I’m glad,” Phil begins, pausing as he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “I’m glad we got to be together. For a little.”

“Me, too,” Steve replies. “I just wish…”

Phil turns his head to look at him, his eyes dull as his energy wanes.

“Promise me,” Phil says, “that you won’t… won’t blame yourself. That you’ll keep going.”

Steve tries to smile reassuringly, but falls far short.

“Please, Steve,” Phil pleads, voice thick with emotion. “You’re not the reason… for my death. So… don’t let me be the reason… for yours.”

“Okay,” Steve says, unable to hold back his tears anymore. “Okay.”

Phil breaths heavily, gasps intermingling with sobs as tears pour down his face. Steve pulls him in, strong arms encircling him as they cry together. Hands coming up to frame his face, Steve kisses him, fiercely, desperately, trying to pack everything he can into one last kiss. He wishes they had one more day together; one more day he could watch the other man wake, one more day where he could kiss him good morning and have everything feel like it was going to be okay, at least for that little while. One more chance to make love to him.

“I love you,” Phil says as his partner pulls away. “I know… I never said it much…”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, kissing his forehead. “I know. I always knew. I love you, Phil.”

Phil looks down at the gun in his lap. “I think it’s… time now.”

Steve’s face caves at the words, tears flowing fresh as he kisses Phil again and again. “Not yet, please. A few more minutes, please, just a little while longer.”

Phil’s resolve nearly crumbles at the desperation in his words and actions. It would be so much nicer to just drift off in Steve’s arms, to just… quietly pass on being held by the man he loves. But in doing so, he’d be forcing Steve into the task of disposing of him once he turned, and he can’t do that. He can’t bear making him do that.

“Has to be… now. I’m not… I’m not gonna…”

He won’t last much longer. A few minutes, at best. So Steve nods and pulls back, lingering for one final kiss before rising and settling across from the shorter man. Phil takes a deep breath and lifts the pistol from his lap, only for it to fall back. He tries, time and again, to summon the strength to hold it up to his head, and he fails every time. A quiet noise of frustration leaves him as Steve moves to his right side, wrapping his hand around Phil’s and helping him guide the nozzle to his temple.

“We’ll do it together,” Steve declares.

Phil wishes he could tell the other man how grateful he is. He wishes he had the time to say that Steve is the best thing to ever have happened to him.

“I love you,” Phil says, one last time.

“I love you, too,” Steve answers.

Together, they squeeze the trigger.

* * *

Tony and Bruce sit and wait outside the safe house, watching the dying sun in the distance. Not a word is spoken between them as they hear the report of a pistol in the distance. Steve returns after the sun has slipped below the horizon, dragging a shovel and covered in dirt. His eyes a dry and hard and he says nothing as they fall back into the safe house and lock the door.

* * *

“Where’s Steve now?” Natasha asks, pouring them all a cup of tea.

“After we reached the coast and the vaccine was discovered, we lost track of each other in the rebuild,” Tony says. He shakes his head. “He kept on going, kept his promise, but he was never the same after Phil.”

“I can’t imagine he would be,” Pepper says, looking at her wedding ring a tad guiltily.

“I think it was just… how fucking twisted it was,” Tony says. “I mean, the fact that the world goes to shit a few months after Phil wakes up from a coma after his stabbing? No one thought he was going to pull through but he did, only to die a few months later, anyway. What kind of sick fucking joke is that?”

“I still can’t believe it,” Clint says, shaking his head. “I mean, I just figured… that couldn’t happen. Not to him.”

“You still didn’t answer my question,” Natasha points out.

“I don’t know where he is,” Tony reminds her.

“But if you had to guess?”

If he had to guess, Tony would tell her about a quiet little spot. It’s a bit out of the way, but there’s a little hill with a nice big sycamore tree on top. He could tell her this, but he won’t. Steve might still be alive, but Tony knows full well that when Phil had died, a large part of Steve had died with him.

No, he doesn’t know where Steve Rogers is. But if he had to guess, he’d say that beneath the shade of a sycamore tree is as good a guess as any.


	12. Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a weekend away in Boston, Steve discovers he's not the only captain in Phil's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conversations were had about the posters on my wall. Jokes were made. Then this happened. Fair warning, Phil is channeling my Chara-love hardcore in here. Also Boston.

Steve’s been to a baseball game or two since he’d been thawed out, but he can’t say he’s been to a hockey game. So when Phil approaches him with two tickets and hotel reservations in Boston for the weekend, he decides it’s time he brushed up on Canada’s national sport. Now, he knows that Phil enjoys the sport, but he apparently underestimated just how much. As they’re getting ready to head to the Garden, he can’t keep a straight face once he sees what the other man has chosen to wear.

“Really?” he asks with a chuckle.

“It’s a superstitious thing. I’m allowed to be superstitious,” Phil says defensively. “Besides, I like this jersey.”

He traces the ‘C’ patch sewn over the agent’s heart. “The Captain, huh?”

“Yes,” Phil says, clearing his throat. He checks his watch. “We should get going. The place fills up quickly and I want to walk you around before it gets too crowded.”

He lets the matter drop, seeing that it’s clearly left Phil a little hot under the collar, but fully intends to pick it back up again later. He never can allow a good opportunity to tease the supposedly unflappable Agent Coulson to get away from him.

Riding the T is an interesting experience. It’s nice to see Phil as relaxed as he is, freely engaging in conversation with other fans, dropping stats and personal opinions on player performance with the same ease that he might discuss the specs on an op. Thankfully, Steve only gets recognized once or twice. It’s not that he minds meeting fans, it’s just that this weekend he has plans to be Steve and not Captain America. Phil had planned out a weekend for them to get away from it all and he fully intended to take advantage of that, so he tugs the Bruins cap Phil had gotten him low over his forehead in the hopes of retaining his anonymity.

Phil hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that the Garden filled up quick—even two hours before puck drop there are plenty of people filing inside. The place is still empty enough for Phil to give him his own personal tour, and Steve smiles as the agent rattles on about the history of the sport, the team and the city. It’s clear that hockey holds the same meaning for Phil that baseball does for him.

They take to their seats for the pre-game skate and Steve finds himself impressed yet again. The seats Phil had managed to get were only a few rows back from the ice, close to the Zamboni doors. The agent points out player after player as they skate by, giving Steve a quick profile. Phil seems excited by all of it, his eyes alive and his speech animated, but it doesn’t quite compare to when the Bruins’ captain skates by. Steve lets out an appreciative whistle.

“He’s a big fella, isn’t he?” he notes.

“Zdeno Chara; age thirty-six, 6’9” without skates and 6’11” with,” Phil informs him. “The tallest player in the NHL. Signed to the Bruins in 2006 where he was given the Captain’s ‘C’ after the team had traded former Captain Joe Thornton the year prior. He’s a Norris Trophy winner, holds the record for the hardest slap shot in the NHL at 108.8 mph, and is the first player born behind the Iron Curtain to captain a team to the Stanley Cup.”

Steve almost laughs, but doesn’t want to embarrass Phil. He wonders if the agent is aware of the fact that he straightens his posture every time the captain skates by. Still, he can have a little fun, can’t he?

“Oh, I get it,” Steve says.

“Get what?” Phil asks, eyes still on the ice.

“You’ve just got a thing for captains,” Steve replies, clucking his tongue.

“Wait, what?” Phil asks, turning to look at him with wide eyes. “Where do you get that?”

“Come on, Phil. Don’t tell me you don’t notice how you sit pretty every time he skates by?” Steve prods with a grin.

“I do _not_ ,” Phil counters, with a frown.

“You’ve got a crush on him. I’m okay with that,” Steve continues, enjoying himself.

“I don’t have a crush on him, I greatly admire and respect him,” Phil says, folding his arms over his chest.

“Just like you greatly admire and respect ESPN’s Body Issue from 2009?” Steve asks.

He watches Phil’s expression go carefully neutral even as his face begins turning pink. In all likelihood, he’s trying to figure out how Steve even knows about that. The agent clears his throat and slowly turns his attention back to the ice.

“They were tastefully shot images of an athlete who keeps himself in peak physical condition,” Phil answers.

“Is that why the pages stick together?”

“They do not _stick_ ,” Phil says with a snort.

Okay, so perhaps it’s time he eased off. His playful teasing seems to be embarrassing the agent a little more than he’d intended. Looping his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, he gives him a quick, one-armed hug.

“I’m sorry, I was just teasing, alright?” Steve assures him.

“Oh, I know that,” Phil says, sporting an amused smile. “But I figured at the very least, I could guilt you into buying the first round.”

“And here I felt bad for you,” Steve says, jostling him slightly.

So after purchasing some snacks and the first round of drinks—Boston Brick Red at Phil’s insistence, because nothing else would do—he settles back into his seat to enjoy the game. The pace is so much faster than he remembers, and hockey had always been a quick sport. There’s more equipment involved these days, but it’s all been refine to a very sleek look so that the players look more like bullets than anything else as they shoot from one end of the ice to the other.

Steve’s enjoying the game, impressed with the level of skill they’re being presented with, but he’s enjoying Phil’s enjoyment of the game just as much. He finds himself following the agent’s lead, joining in the cry of “Tuuuuuuuuukk!” whenever their goalie makes a particularly nice save as well as the rallying chants that the crowd throws up continually throughout the game. It’s just after the second period that Steve’s mood takes an abrupt detour. He nearly chokes on his beer when Phil nudges him with an elbow and points up to the Jumbotron.

“So much for keeping this a quiet night out,” Phil says.

There’s a live feed of him up on the large screens with the words ‘Welcome Captain America!’ in patriotic themed font. Not wanting to be rude, he gives a little wave, which gets cheers and whistles from the crowd and shoulder slaps from the people seated around him. He smiles, dipping his head in humble acknowledgement of their support but breathes a sigh of relief when the camera is off him.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Phil mock-gripes.

“To be fair, I don’t know why either of us thought a hat would do the trick,” Steve says, removing said hat and studying it as he runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re right. Definitely should have worn the fake moustache,” Phil says, sipping his beer.

“Personally, I’d have gone with a fake beard.”

Steve twists in his seat and sighs when he sees Clint crouched on the stairs just behind him. Natasha leans against the rail and waves.

“What are you two doing here?” Phil asks, not sounding particularly pleased to see them.

“Don’t give me that look,” Clint says. “You know Natasha likes hockey just as much as you do.”

“I’m Russian,” Natasha says with a shrug of her shoulder. “It’s what we do.”

“And you just decided to get tickets to this game in particular?” Steve asks.

“Well, had to make sure you two had a hassle-free date, didn’t we?”

Phil watches them both carefully before his eyes gradually narrow. “…you two told them to put Steve on the Jumbotron, didn’t you?”

“He’s very photogenic,” Natasha says innocently.

“Just be glad we didn’t tell them to put you on the Kiss Cam.”

Phil groans as he sees Melinda slowly making her way down the stairs, box of popcorn in-hand. Steve is beginning to wonder just how many other unexpected guests they’ll be getting tonight.

“Please don’t tell me you brought the kids,” Phil sighs.

Melinda arches an eyebrow at that. “Dad’s not the only one who gets a date night.”

Steve takes a look at the three of them—a good, long look—and then it all clicks into place. He can’t say it’s something he had known about but he can’t say he’s all that surprised. The three of them have always seemed to click whenever they were around each other. Steve remains silent as he processes this, but Phil doesn’t seem all that affected by the announcement.

“And you chose Boston. This weekend. This game,” Phil intones flatly.

“We should go to Mike’s Pastry together,” Clint announces. “Steve, has he taken you there, yet? Make sure he takes you there.”

“I prefer Modern,” Natasha says.

“No, it’s gotta be Mike’s,” Clint argues.

“Hawkguy’s right, you should go to Mike’s,” adds a man from the row behind them.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Clint says, as though that’s won the argument. “But it’s Hawk _eye_ , dude. Why do people always think it’s Hawkguy?”

“How much do I have to pay the three of you to go away?” Phil asks at last.

“Aww, Phil,” Clint says.

“We were just checking in,” Natasha says, stealing a sip of Steve’s beer. “Enjoy your date.”

“And if you don’t want to see us again, I’d suggest ignoring the table at the back corner when you head to your dinner reservation tomorrow,” Melinda adds smoothly as they start walking back up the stairs.

Phil and Steve settle back in their seats, sharing a look that can only be summed up as an apology for the people they choose to associate with being the kind of people that they are. Although, Steve reflects, something should be said of the fact that they’re really not surprised by these kinds of antics anymore. But the third period is starting and they’ve been mostly left alone, so he decides to get back to enjoying the game. For the most part he succeeds… right up until they get to the Kiss Cam.

When he sees himself and Phil up on the screen, he decides that a slow death would be too kind a fate for the three spies. Still, never being one to back down from a challenge, Steve reaches over and grabs a fistful of Phil’s jersey and hauls him in for a kiss. There’s beer sloshed over both of them and there are mixed cheers and whistles and a few boos here and there from the crowd and he’s pretty sure they’re being recorded on more than a few cell phones and maybe he hears a few stick taps, but he can’t be bothered to give a damn.

“Show off,” Phil says, looking to see if any beer had made it onto his jersey.

“Guilty as charged,” Steve says with a smile.

“You know Stark is going to get ahold of that,” Phil reminds him.

“I can live with that,” Steve decides, settling an arm around his shoulders.

By the end of the night, Steve can see why Phil loves it so much. It’s quite an experience, not all that dissimilar to a baseball game. The collective energy of the building leaves him feeling buzzed in a way that alcohol no longer can. A short T ride and a shorter walk later, they arrive at their hotel room and Steve flops back onto the bed, looking forward to winding down.

“What’d you think?” Phil asks.

“I had a great time. I hope we can go again sometime,” Steve says, beckoning the agent to join him. He pulls Phil onto the bed when he nears and grins as the shorter man moves to straddle his waist. “Thank you for taking me.”

“Thank you for indulging me,” Phil answers as Steve’s hands settle on his hips.

Steve hums in response. “Mm. Black and gold looks good on you. Maybe you should start wearing a black suit and gold tie on game days.”

“Don’t encourage me,” Phil says with a laugh.

Steve goes back to tracing the ‘C’ patch on the agent’s chest as he had been earlier. He knows it’s likely past the point of needing to be said, but he wants to say what’s on his mind all the same.

“You know I don’t really have a problem with you admiring Chara, right?” Steve says. He smiles teasingly. “I’m okay with not being the only captain in your life.”

Phil watches him carefully, a soft smile on his face as he places his hands over Steve’s where they rest on his hips. He gradually begins to lean forward as he runs his hands down the length of the soldier’s forearms. When he reaches the elbow, he shifts his attentions and instead begins slowly massaging the taller man’s chest.

“You know that I don’t always go in for men,” Phil begins.

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums in recognition.

His mind goes to the cellist, to the other women who had been romantic interests at one point or another in Phil’s life. Phil’s dated more women than men, but Steve knows that. He just wonders where exactly this statement is headed.

“But when I do, I like them the same way I like my women,” Phil explains, leaning closer. “I guess you could say I’ve got a thing for people who are talented, with a strong sense of leadership who still manage to remain effortlessly humble. Maybe you could say my type happens to be people who make it a priority to help others, who suffer from that valiant strength of character and morals, who know that nothing is gained without determination and hard work and who are willing to offer more than their fair share of both.”

Phil’s hands slide up his chest, up his neck and come to frame his face. When the agent moves in to kiss him, Steve lifts his head from the pillows to meet him. He parts his lips invitingly, a small, pleased noise escaping him as Phil takes the invitation and deepens the kiss. There’s no urgency backing either of their movements, nothing but a languid satisfaction at simple touch and response. When Phil finally pulls away, Steve smiles drowsily up at him—he’d liked the taste of the beer when he’d been drinking it, but there was something about the lingering taste of it on Phil’s tongue that had been far more appealing.

“I find myself drawn to people who deal in respect based on where it’s earned, not one’s station in life,” Phil says. He smiles and presses another quick kiss to the soldier’s lips. “So I’ve got a type. The captain thing is just a bonus. Yes, I admire Chara the same way I admire you, but the thing that will always be the difference is that I don’t just admire you, Steve. I love you. Just you.”

At least a dozen poetically romantic responses cross his mind, but his mouth has decided not to consult his brain.

“Let’s get room service in the morning,” he says.

Phil looks, understandably, perplexed.

“I don’t plan on letting you leave this bed any time soon,” Steve expounds.

“Oh no?” Phil answers, allowing Steve to gently roll them both over until he’s on his back. “I’d figured you’d want to see the city.”

“No,” Steve murmurs, mouthing at his neck. “You planned this weekend for us to relax. We can see the city later; I’ve got what I want right here.”

Steve breathes deeply, his eyes falling shut as Phil’s hands make their way to his hair and he feels the agent’s chest rise and fall in a slow sigh. He’d never admit it, but seeing Phil admire the hockey captain the same way he admired him had left him feeling a little… jealous. Not threatened, but jealous. Those feelings had quickly dissolved in the face of the agent’s words, however, and now he can’t help but feel foolish for it.

“I love you, too, you know,” Steve says quietly.

“I know,” Phil answers.

Steve lifts his head, looks him in the eye. “Do you?”

He’s sure that he could spend the rest of his life explaining to Phil just how much he means to him without ever being able to make the agent fully understand. But when Phil says that he knows, when he smiles at Steve with one of those soft, private smiles that no one else gets to see—the one where his walls are down and he’s exposed, offering up the most private parts of himself—Steve doesn’t argue. 


	13. Mourn Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil is alive. But Steve mourns for the part of him that stayed dead.

Steve had mourned. Looking back, he’s not sure if it was an appropriate length of time, considering he’d barely known Phil. But it had seemed that the more he learned about the agent from others, the deeper he fell into mourning. If it’s strange to mourn for a man you barely know, then it certainly has to be strange to pine for one. But that’s really the only way he can think to describe it. That strange sense of longing that had snaked its way into his grief.

He hid all this, of course, because the last thing he needed was to be sent to a padded room for fantasizing about a dead man. Until, quite suddenly, that dead man wasn’t so dead and his strange sense of longing was given a purpose. Now, months later, he finds himself in a picture of cozy—if unconventional—domesticity. Despite being happier than he can recall having been in a very long time, he finds that sometimes late at night, when Phil is asleep and he lies awake, he still mourns.

At first, he wasn’t sure what it was. He’d gotten what he’d wanted, more than he could have ever hoped for, why should he continue to feel this way? But slowly, over time, he began to understand.

Steve had fallen in love with who Phil was, and while there’s no doubt that he’s very much in love with the man currently joining his team in hassling Jemma for “using her Britishness against them” in a word game, they aren’t the same person. They’re close, but not the same. Phil Coulson is very much alive—this is reinforced whenever he places a hand to the other man’s chest, whenever he picks Phil up after the Bus has docked, whenever the agent insists on inspecting any injuries Steve has acquired in his absence, whenever they lie beside one another in bed, whenever they make love.

Phil is alive. But Steve mourns for the part of him that stayed dead. Because that’s what it is. As alive as Phil is now, as much as S.H.I.E.L.D. had pieced him back together, Steve knows they missed some things. He wonders, though, if those pieces can’t be recovered. If they can’t be made alive again, just as Phil as been.

“You were quiet tonight,” Phil notes as they prepare for bed.

“Sorry,” Steve says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just tired, I guess.”

“You don’t have to apologi—…Steve?”

Steve blinks and looks up, only then realizing that his face is wet. With an aggravated sigh, he scrubs quickly at his eyes, clearing them of any moisture. But the damage is done. Phil sits beside him on the edge of the bed and he feels the agent’s hand at the small of his back.

“Talk to me,” Phil says gently.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I just… got a little caught up in what I was thinking about.”

“Okay,” Phil says, rubbing his back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Does he want to talk about it? He wants to get it off his chest, but again, he can hardly do that without sounding absolutely insane. And Phil is doing better. Sometimes he seems to be more of that man that Steve had initially fallen in love with. Over time, it’s seemed like he’s begun to… heal. As much as he can, all things considered. And how selfish of him would it be to say that he mourns the parts of Phil that they didn’t manage to resurrect, the pieces they’d left dead and buried? How selfish is that when he loves the man beside him and when that man loves him as much in return? But the missing pieces remain, all the same.

He can’t talk about those things. Instead he turns and reaches around to grab the back of Phil’s head before crushing their lips together, kissing him in a manner that does nothing to mask his want. Phil, blessed with the ability to roll with the punches, goes along with it and doesn’t try to press him to talk. Steve wants to focus on now, on him, on feeling him.

His whole body is taut with anticipation and need until Phil is at last inside him and everything falls away. He rolls his hips in time with the shorter man’s thrusts, wanting it, needing it, so desperate to fill that ache in his chest. Phil whispers a declaration of love against his lips as he comes and Steve whimpers into his mouth, spilling over his own fist.

Part of him feels guilty for using sex to mask the problem, and he wonders if he’s using Phil in that way. But it helps to soothe that ache. It’s not fucking—they’ve fucked before, and this is very far from that—but it’s not quite making love either.

“Is it me?” Phil asks him as they lie in the quiet of the bedroom.

“No,” Steve says. “God, no. It’s…”

Don’t say it. Don’t let him know.

“I fell in love with you before I really met you,” Steve says before he can stop himself. Phil is watching him very carefully, he can see that even in the dim light. “I know it sounds crazy, but what I mean is… After you died, I felt remorse. Guilt. And I tried to ease that by talking to the people who seemed to have known you best. The more I learned about you, the more I began to… mourn. And gradually, with that, I started to have _feelings_ for you, for that man.”

“But I’m not that man,” Phil finishes quietly.

Something in Steve’s chest clenches painfully.

“I love you, Phil. The you that’s here right now,” he says resolutely. “But there’s a part of me that hasn’t figured out how to stop mourning the parts of you that we lost.”

“I’m sorry. I’m trying—“

“Don’t apologize, please,” Steve says, reaching out to tug him close, wrapping his arms around the other man as though he can somehow anchor them both down. “This isn’t on you. It shouldn’t be your problem to fix. I know you’re trying; I’m trying, too. But that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy or ungrateful or that this isn’t good enough. I love every part of you—broken and missing parts included. I just…”

It sounds every bit as selfish as he’d thought it would. He can only pray that he hasn’t hurt Phil with his admission, because that’s the very last thing that he wanted and the very last thing that the agent deserves.

“I understand,” Phil says. “More than you think. I know I’m not who I was before, as much as I try to be. I know that when they brought me back, some pieces got left behind. I think I’ve recovered a few of those pieces and I know that some of them have been with your help but there are things that I wonder if I’ll ever get back. I’m not going to begrudge you for mourning; not when I get so weighed down in self-pity that I end up doing the same.”

Phil’s hands curl into fists against Steve’s chest.

“I’m damaged. I know that,” he says quietly. “And I often ask myself why you would want that. I ask myself, what right do I have to think that should be enough for you?”

“It’s enough,” Steve whispers. “Phil, it’s more than enough.”

This isn’t a case of taking what he can get. This isn’t settling. He will love Phil to his last, damage and all, and it will always be enough. And in time, he knows the mourning will fade. The sense of loss will dwindle. The man is his arms may never be truly whole again, but neither will Steve, so maybe it’s only right that they be together in that. 


	14. Nurse Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because you're The Last Dragonborn doesn't mean you're invincible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little fun with a Skyrim!AU. You don't have to know about or have played the game to be able to read this one, but I do think it makes it a little more fun.

“You need to stop and you need to sit. Now.”

Steve is surprised by the harshness of the shorter Imperial’s words, but he doesn’t argue. Using his shield as support, he gently lowers himself to the floor of the cave. With his back propped up against a large stone, he watches Phil gather wood and assemble it at the center of the cave. A quick fire spell later and there’s a roaring flame before them, which begins to warm Steve even from a distance.

“Come on,” Phil says, holding out his hands. “Let’s get you closer.”

Steve bites his lip and suppresses any noise as Phil hauls him up; it’s certainly not doing his injuries any favors. Still, the inviting warmth as they draw nearer is well worth it, and sitting on a bedroll is much nicer than the cold, stone floor. He’s barely been seated again before Phil’s hands are on him, unclasping his armor, carefully placing it all aside. Then those sure, steady hands are on him, assessing the damage.

“Talos’ sake, this is deep,” Phil says, frowning heavily as his fingers gently probe the gash in Steve’s right side.

“Feels it,” Steve admits with a grunt.

“If I’d known it was this bad… Never mind. Alright, let’s get to it then. Try to relax,” Phil encourages him.

Steve’s never been the best at Restoration spells, so he supposes he’s lucky that Phil has quite the knack for them. This particular spell usually manifests itself in a golden glow, but ever since Phil had come back, its color had changed for him. Phil’s hands hover over his wound, that silver-blue light transferring off the other man’s hands and onto Steve’s body. Steve sighs, eyes falling shut at the sensation. Already he feels the pain beginning to ebb away as a feeling of relaxation enters him. There are other people out there more adept at healing that Phil is, there are healers out there who have devoted their lives to the art of Restoration, but Steve would rather have Phil any day.

The sensation of Phil’s hands on him, he can understand the intimacy in that, but it’s even come down to his magic. Blindfolded, Steve would be able to differentiate between Phil’s magic and anyone else’s. Perhaps it’s due to all they’d been through together, perhaps it’s their bond as partners—which they had recently cemented in matrimony—but whatever it is, Phil’s magic has adapted to Steve. It had bonded to him, morphed into something else. Phil’s magic is soft and intimate, a gentle caress.

“Dovahkiin or not, you’re not invincible,” Phil murmurs.

Steve hums, eyes still shut. “No. But someone had to get in there.”

“Right, but could you do me a favor and maybe _not_ forget to watch your own back?” Phil questions.

“Look who’s talking,” Steve mumbles.

Phil doesn’t answer that. Steve feels the magic shift, a pleasant tingle running down his spine as he’s eased into a deeper state of relaxation, one that’s almost trace-like. He sighs slowly, resting his full weight against the rock behind him.

“Can you feel it mending?” Phil asks.

He nods his head.

“Any discomfort?”

He gives a lazy shake of his head. “Feels good.”

“Steve, I need you to stay awake for a little while longer,” Phil says, his tone firm but not unkind. “You lost a lot of blood. I need you to open your eyes for me.”

Steve would really much rather be allowed to drift off in peace, but he knows it’s important. If Phil says it’s important, it’s important. So he complies, after a short time, and manages to pry his eyes open. It takes a moment for his vision to clear, but focusing on Phil helps. He always likes watching the other man work, he enjoys the look of concentration on his face, the silvery-blue light of his own magic reflecting in his eyes. They’re almost the same color, aren’t they? Then those eyes are on him and Phil smiles, the wrinkles on his forehead smoothing out with the action.

“You’ll be alright,” he says.

“Never doubted it,” Steve answers groggily.

Phil smiles again, taking one hand away from his task to reach up and brush the soldier’s hair from his face. Steve turns his head, pressing his face to the shorter man’s palm and kissing the wedding band on his finger. Phil’s hand shifts, his thumb brushes Steve’s cheek, before returning to hovering over his wound.

“I’m going to keep working, but you’re through the worst of it,” Phil tells him. “It’s okay to sleep now.”

“I can stay awake,” Steve says, even as he shuts his eyes again.

He must have dozed off at some point, because he startles when a hand touches his face and he opens his eyes, blinking rapidly in the dim light. The sun has gone down, and from the cave mouth he can see Masser and Secunda floating amidst a sky full of stars.

“You were out for a few hours,” Phil explains, helping him sit up. He presses a glass vial into Steve’s hands. “Sip on this.”

Steve nods, doing so without hesitation. The taste immediately tells him the potion is one of Jemma’s—the young alchemist has a habit of trying to mask the bitter taste that tends to come with these concoctions with various herbs and flowers. Even after a few sips he’s feeling refreshed, enough to examine his injuries. Or where his injuries had been. Phil is very thorough in his work, so that what had been a rather deep wound in his side is now simply slightly discolored; the pink of new, healing skin.

He lifts his gaze, finding his fellow Imperial stirring the contents of the pot suspended over the open flame of their fire. For a time he says nothing, content to watch. Phil is something of an anomaly. After Steve’s Awakening, the Imperial had been eager to help him readjust. It turned out Phil was something of a fan of his, having grown up hearing tales of the Dovahkiin from his Nord mother. They were alike in that fashion, having one Imperial parent and one Nord. Phil was, and is, one of the last of the Blades, meant to guide, serve and protect the Dragonborn.

In any case, Steve’s Awakening seemed to be aptly timed, for shortly after came Alduin’s return. They had banded together an unlikely group of heroes to combat this threat, but they hadn’t exactly seen eye to eye on everything. That had changed when the dragon and his mortal accomplice—who had turned out to be Thor’s adoptive brother, Loki—had attacked. Attacked when they were too busy fighting each other. Attacked when Phil had been the only one around to intercept them.

And Phil had died. By all rights, he should have stayed that way, but when Steve had used the Elder Scroll to chase Alduin and Loki to Sovngarde, he certainly hadn’t expected to find Phil there. And when Alduin attempted to swallow him, Steve certainly hadn’t expected Phil to be able to do something as outrageous as choke The World Eater. And lastly, Steve had never once thought he could do something so preposterous as steal Phil’s soul from the afterlife and take it back with him to Nirn.

But it had worked. Phil had been dead for less than twenty-four hours when Steve had returned with the Black Soul Gem that carried him. It was the stuff of fairytales, invading the afterlife to reclaim someone’s soul, but in the end it had worked. Somehow, he came back. With no little thanks to some of the most gifted magic users on the planet, they were able to return his soul to his body and restore his life.

Needless to say, sharing that kind of experience does something to bind you together. After months of courting and continued adventures, Phil had done Steve the honor of agreeing to be his husband. They’d been wed a little over a month now and not a day went by that Steve didn’t marvel at how truly incredible it was that they’d gotten the chance at all.

“You alright over there?” Phil asks him.

“Fine,” Steve says, rising to move closer to him. “Better now.”

He sits beside the shorter man, making a soft, dissatisfied noise once he gets a good look at him.

“You, on the other hand, look exhausted,” Steve says.

Phil shakes his head. “Just a little tired. I didn’t expect to need to work on you as long as I did.”

Part of him hates this, that he has to take away from Phil like this when he’s injured. But another part of him can’t help but feel touched every time he does. Because Phil would give everything if it meant saving him; a thought that both moves and terrifies him.

“I wish you wouldn’t push yourself like that,” Steve says, laying a hand on his back.

“Oh, sure,” Phil says with a nod. “I’ll just let you bleed out next time.”

“Funny,” Steve says. He leans forward, curling an arm around the other man’s waist and pulling him back, much to Phil’s protest as the spoon nearly falls into their dinner. “I mean it. Because you can joke about it all you like, but one day you’ll push too far and I’ll wake up without you. And I’m pretty sure that whole stealing your soul out of Sovngarde trick only works once.”

“I’ve told you before not to worry,” Phil says. “The way I see it, I’ve got a second chance that very few people get. By all rights, I should have stayed dead. I’m going to have to go again someday, and the way I see it, keeping you alive is about the best way to go that I can think of.”

Steve frowns. “You know I hate it when you talk like that.”

“Relax,” Phil says, patting his hand. “I’m sure we’ve got many years of you running off and doing stupid things to look forward to.”

“Well, hey, who said it was stupid?” Steve asks.

“I did. Just now. Were you not listening?” Phil asks with a completely straight face.

Steve snorts.

“Now, how long are you planning on holding me captive?” Phil asks, motioning to Steve’s arms wrapped tight around his middle. “Because our dinner is going to burn if I sit here any longer.”

“Mm. Maybe I’m okay with letting it burn,” Steve says, kissing his neck.

“You say that now, but when we move out tomorrow you’ll be complaining about doing it on an empty stomach,” Phil points out.

“You make a compelling argument,” Steve says, nodding in agreement. “But after dinner, I’ve got plans for you.”

“You’ve got plans for sleep,” Phil corrects him.

“Now who’s the one who’s not listening?” Steve says.

“You don’t need sex, you need sleep,” Phil says with a patient smile, finally extracting himself from Steve’s grasp. “You’re going to eat something, I’m going to make some tea, then I’m going to clean you up, give you a massage and you’re going to sleep.”

Steve makes a thoughtful noise.

“Make no mistake, as soon as we’re back in Whiterun and you’re fully recovered from this mission, we’re locking ourselves in the bedroom for the foreseeable future,” Phil assures him.

“Thank the Nine you married me,” Steve sighs.

“Thank yourself,” Phil says, shooting him a soft smile. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Steve doesn’t have the words to say what he feels, so he just smiles back and lets Phil finish. They follow Phil’s plan and some point during the massage, Steve is out like a light; only proving the other man’s point that he wasn’t up for sex to begin with. He wakes when the sky is just barely light and their fire has begun to grow small with Phil tucked against him. He sighs and kisses the top of the other man’s head, causing his husband to stir.

“Everything okay?” Phil murmurs, clearly closer to sleep than being awake.

“Fine. Go back to sleep,” Steve whispers.

Phil hums something in recognition, tucking his head to Steve’s chest and quickly returning to sleep. Steve lies awake, just focusing on this, on this moment. Phil’s magic had healed his wounds, yes, but it’s moments like these that heal the rest of him. For a man lost to time, frozen for hundreds of years in ice by a cruel spell, these moments heal him more fully than any magic could hope to. They are men of second chances, bound together by fate, and he fully intends to take every minute that he can get with no regrets.


	15. Offer Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows what it means to give someone your heart. Few people ever do it quite literally.

“Before you go, I’ve got something for you.”

Steve has become something of a regular fixture on the Bus. In the beginning, Phil had been concerned about the lack of professionalism involved, but the team enjoys having the captain around and, if anything, they seem generally supportive of the relationship. These days Phil is less hesitant to treat Steve like his significant other while in their presence—unless they happen to be working.

At present, Steve is seeing all of them off. He’s got a mission of his own to run, so there’s no chance of him coming along for this one. But the man’s statement has piqued Phil’s curiosity, to say the least. When Steve presents him with a box, his curiosity multiplies. At the captain’s insistence, he opens the box to find… a pillow.

“Forgive me for sounding ungrateful,” Phil says slowly, “but I’m a little confused.”

“Right, I should explain,” Steve says, clearing his throat. “It’s Tony’s take on something I saw on the internet a few months ago. There’s a wristband at the bottom of the box that goes with the pillow. I’ve got a matching set for myself. Now, the idea is that when you go to bed at night, you put the wristband on and that pillow will glow to let you know that I’m in bed, or mine will glow to let me know you’re in yours. Don’t worry, it stops glowing once you lie on it. Anyway, using the wristbands, the pillows let us hear each other’s heartbeats through built-in speakers.”

Phil raises his eyebrows at the seemingly ordinary pillow sitting inside the box in his hands. Knowing Tony, it’s nothing to sneeze at.

“So when you go to bed at night, you’ll be able to hear my heartbeat in real time. And I’ll be able to hear yours,” Steve says.

“This is…”

Phil’s at a loss for words. He lapses into silence, staring at the gift and trying to fish for the words he wants.

“You said you sleep better when we’re together,” Steve says, his voice dropping in volume. His reaches out, resting one hand on Phil’s shoulder and his other hand brushing the agent’s. “I know you’ve had… a rough few nights recently. And I know this isn’t nearly the same as being with you, but I thought, well…”

“Thank you,” Phil blurts suddenly. He shakes his head disbelievingly. “I’m sorry, I was a little speechless. But it’s perfect. In fact, it’s probably one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone’s ever given me.”

Steve colors a bit at that. “I’ve gotta confess, it’s kind of for me, too.”

The soldier moves his hand to Phil’s chest, his fingertips just barely touching the area over his heart. Thankfully, Phil’s gotten used to the action; enough so that he doesn’t reflexively flinch or draw away at the contact.

“I just want to know if you’re okay,” Steve says. “…or if you’re not.”

Phil shifts the box in his grip, tucking it under his arm so he can step closer into Steve’s personal space. The soldier moves with him, inclining his head as Phil tips his back so that their lips meet with practiced ease. It’s short and chaste, but not so much that it’s left anything to be desired. Steve is worried, as he so often is, about how well Phil is coping. The agent tends to keep things to himself, to become reclusive when he’s troubled or in pain, and so Steve has his concerns. Dealing with the things that had happened to him has been something like a rollercoaster—there are stretches of time where Phil seems to be recovering, healing, moving forward… and dark times when he’s nearly non-functional, crippled by uncertainty and nightmares and haunting memories that he was never supposed to recover.

The past few days have been dark. He can see it in the agent’s eyes, could hear it in his voice with every phone call they’d had in that span of time. Regrettably, they’d only gotten one night together by the time Steve had returned from his own mission, and that hadn’t been nearly enough time for either of them.

“I’ll be fine,” Phil assures him.

Steve doesn’t argue, just prays that Phil is right about that.

* * *

Phil wakes to his cell phone ringing. He lies in a tangle of sheets, his chest heaving and his mind racing. He shivers as he tries to come down, to force himself into the here and now. His eyes catch sight of the band on his wrist and he realizes he’s rolled away from his pillow in his sleep. Still in a fog, he fumbles for his phone, picking it up just as it goes to voicemail.

“Coulson,” he answers, his voice cracking.

 _“Phil, it’s me. It’s Steve,”_ comes his reply. _“I’ve tried calling you four times.”_

“Sorry. Sorry, I was sleeping,” Phil answers, trying to calm his breathing and his racing heart. “Time is it?”

 _“It’s quarter of four,”_ Steve answers. _“Were you having a nightmare?”_

Phil hesitates. He hates this. He hates that he’s someone who needs to be checked up on.

 _“Talk to me,”_ Steve implores.

“How did you know?” Phil asks, sighing shakily.

 _“The pillow. Your heart was beating fast enough to put a hummingbird to shame,”_ Steve tells him. _“You alright?”_

They both know the answer to that.

“I’m fine,” Phil says, willing his teeth not to chatter and the chills set in. “Just want to go back to sleep…”

 _“Why don’t you get a few spare blankets from your closet, drink a glass of water and then put me on speaker,”_ Steve suggests. _“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep again.”_

Phil agrees to that and rises from his bed to gather the spare blankets. There’s something to be said about the fact that Steve has been present for so many of his bad nights that he knows the exact measures needed to get Phil back to sleep. Swallowing his shame as best he can, Phil bundles himself up and lies back down, his head resting on Steve’s pillow and the phone placed a foot away.

 _“Better?”_ Steve queries.

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, nodding despite the fact that Steve can’t see it. “I’m sorry, I—“

 _“Don’t,”_ Steve warns him. _“We’ve been over this. I don’t want to hear any apologies.”_

“At some point you’re going to have to realize that this is something that needs an apology,” Phil tells him.

 _“Not before you realize that this is something I **want** to do,”_ Steve counters stubbornly. Phil hears him sigh. _“Why do you think I asked Tony to rig these up? It’s because I’m worried about you, Phil. I wish I could be there for you more often and this is about as close as I can get. It kills me to know you’re hurting and I can’t do anything about it, because I love you to death. Understand?”_

Phil shuts his eyes tightly, swallowing around the traitorous lump in his throat. Sometimes—times like these—he doesn’t understand what he did to deserve Steve. He doesn’t understand how he could possibly be worthy of this man’s affections, his time, his consideration. But here they are.

“Yes,” Phil says simply.

_“Okay. Now just… try to relax, for me.”_

Phil doesn’t have to try as hard as he’s had to in the past as Steve continues to speak quietly. Phil focuses less on what he’s saying and more on the hushed, soothing timbre of his voice in conjunction with his heartbeat. Over time, Phil notices that Steve’s heartbeat slows and it occurs to him that it had been beating rather quickly when he’d first laid back down. All at once he’s given something that can’t be faked—clear proof that Steve had been worried. Sometimes Phil has trouble trusting words, but hearts tend not to lie. He listens to the heartbeat thudding in his ear and gets swept away by it, feels his own heart respond in kind, slowing and matching the steady beat.

The closer Phil listens, the surer he is that he can hear truth in every beat. As he’s gently lulled to sleep, it’s with the warm realization that he’s loved—well and truly loved—and that he actually believes it. True, this isn’t the same now as it is when they’re lying in bed tangled up in one another, but it’s far better than sleeping alone. The nightly horrors he’s grown accustomed to don’t seem so close at hand this way. Steve’s voice begins to peter out as he grows sleepy himself, but his heart never wavers. Not for a second.

As Steve begins to fall asleep, Phil lies awake and listens. Eventually he hears deep, heavy breaths from the other end of the line. He settles in and curls himself around his pillow, at last drifting towards a peaceful slumber. Steve might downplay the importance of this gift, but its meaning hasn't been lost on Phil. When a man gives you his heart to carry with you wherever you are, you feel it. It needn't be expressly stated. 

They both sleep and perhaps one or both of them dream... and the beat goes on.


	16. Paint Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Steve accidentally drops his sketchbook, Skye discovers two things: 1) He's a lot more talented than he gives himself credit for, and 2) all of his sketches seem to focus on one very particular subject.

“Knock, knock,” Skye announces, rapping her knuckles gently against the wall.

Steve looks up quickly from his unpacking—not that he’s got much to unpack. Seriously, the guy takes ‘spartan’ to a whole new level. Still, he’d managed to drop something despite his lack of gear. Now that she looks at him, it seems she’d interrupted something which wasn’t so much unpacking as it was a harried tearing through belongings for a missing possession.

“You dropped this,” Skye says, holding up the thick sketchbook.

“I was wondering where that had gotten to,” Steve says, straightening. He seems at once relieved to have found it and surprisingly reserved by the fact that it’s in her possession. “Thanks for finding it.”

He reaches out to accept the book back, just as Skye tugs it out of reach. He frowns as she holds it behind her, grinning impishly like this is one of the games of keep-away she’d played as a child. Okay, so, she’d less played them and more had them played on her, but the theory was the same in principle. It was kind of interesting to watch Captain America sweat over something like this.

“You’re a better artist than I pictured you’d be,” she tells him.

“So what you’re saying is that you looked through my sketchbook,” Steve interprets, his tone unamused.

“In about as many words,” Skye admits. She’d only intended to tease him a little bit, but the guy genuinely looks upset by the news. Taking pity on him, she hands it over. “Really, though, those are great. I like that one in there of all of us on game night. Any chance I could get a copy?”

Steve seems taken aback by the request, but nods. To her surprise, he flips to the sketch in question and carefully tears it out of the book before handing it to her. She accepts it without question, smiling at the level of detail which allows her to see the looks of dismay on everyone’s faces as Jemma once again whips everyone’s asses at a game of UpWords.

“I’d imagine that with a team like this, the opportunity for family photos don’t often present themselves,” Steve says knowingly.

“I tried to take a selfie with Ward once,” Skye says reflectively. “He almost broke my phone in half. So yeah, getting the gang together for a group photo isn’t exactly an easy thing to do. Thanks for this.”

“Glad you like it,” Steve says, placing the sketchbook at the bottom of his bag.

Skye lingers, rocking on her heels and wondering just how to bring up what it is she wants to say. Steve remains reserved as he rearranges the same few items over and over, straightens the corners on the bed they’d brought in for what must be the hundredth time, and generally does his best to appear busy in the hopes that Skye will take the hint and leave the matter be.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you, uh… have one subject in particular that you like to focus on,” Skye says, looking to him expectantly.

“Oh?” Steve says, sounding as though he’s got no idea what she’s on about.

“Yeah,” Skye continues. “You spend an awful lot of time drawing A.C.”

Steve shrugs, turning to face her and leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his broad chest. “It’s just practice.”

“Is it?” Skye counters.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re implying here, but it’s just a sketchbook. It doesn’t mean anything,” Steve tells her.

“You’re seriously going to stand there and tell me that those sketches are just practice? That they don’t mean anything?” Skye asks with raised eyebrows. “Because if so, Simmons has competition for the Worst Liar on the Bus award.”

Steve is beginning to look a bit miffed at the turn this conversation has taken. She gets that, it’s a private matter, but the way she sees it, she’s got a duty to both of these idiots to get the ball rolling. Because they’re certainly not doing it themselves. The change she’d seen in Phil since Steve had begun spending time with them, running missions with them, was astronomical. For his part, Steve seemed to spend nearly every waking moment glued to the agent’s side. The two were thick as thieves; a power couple if not for the fact that they weren’t actually a couple. Not yet, anyway.

“I spend a lot of time with Phil,” Steve answers. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t make sense that most of my sketches are of him.”

“Okay, we’re clearly not getting anywhere with this,” Skye sighs. “I get it. You don’t want anyone to know about this. So I swear I won’t tell anyone, but man, Cap, you’ve gotta see that the way you draw him isn’t just an artist and his subject.”

Steve clams up, staring her down. She’s not going to budge though, not on this one. Frankly, she’s had enough of them dancing this particular dance. They make great friends and great coworkers and watching them collaboratively lead a mission is like watching the finest two-man orchestra in the world. But they could be so much more than that. And having watched them for weeks, Skye’s pretty damn sure they both _want_ more than that. Yet here they are, still carefully avoiding the subject at all costs. Just as she’s thinking she’s going to have to go ahead and lay down the law, Steve decides to respond.

“I care about Phil,” Steve says, his tone serious. “He’s an important person to me. I think we’ve grown to be good friends in the time since we’ve known each other and I enjoy working with him.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I won’t say that you’re wrong. You’re very far from it,” he admits. “But this is all a bit new to me and the last thing I want to do is drive him away. We work well as we are now and I’ve got no intention of doing anything to compromise that.”

“Do me a favor and take that sketchbook back out,” Skye says.

Steve quirks a curious eyebrow, but meets her request. When she asks him to hand it to her, she’s met with no hostility—likely due to the fact that considering she’s thumbed through all of it already, he doesn’t see much harm in letting her do so again. Skye flips through the pages, looking for one sketch in particular. It’s funny how, even in settings where he’s drawn all of them, the greatest detail is afforded to Phil. Lovesick teenagers doodle their sweethearts’ names in their notebooks and adorn them with scribbled hearts; Steve, it seems, prefers to draw something that should be hanging in an art gallery.

There’s no end to the number of ways he’s opted to draw Phil. Some pieces are simple, where the agent is pouring over a file or debriefing them on a mission, sitting at his desk  or leaning against a table in the lab as he’s treated to another FitzSimmons scientific babblethon. Others are more complex and are focused more closely. It’s almost scary how accurately the soldier has recorded Phil’s expressions on paper. More than anything, Steve seems to focus on his eyes—the one part of Phil that will tell a story that the rest of him won't.

At last she comes to the one she’d been searching for, pointing a finger at it triumphantly.

“Okay, got it. See this one here? You saw me and A.C. talking on the sofa that day, right?” she asks.

“As I was passing through to meet Agent May for a sparring match, yes,” Steve agrees.

“And why did you decide to draw this in particular?” she wheedles.

Steve colors slightly, looking like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “It was the smile on his face. I haven’t seen it much and I thought I should get it down on paper.”

“Do you know what we were talking about that day?” Skye asks him. When he shakes his head in the negative, she almost wants to laugh. “We were talking about _you_.”

“I’m not sure if I follow you,” Steve says.

“I’m saying that he doesn’t smile like that when he’s talking about anyone else,” Skye points out. “Listen, maybe you’ve figured out by now that A.C. is _kind of_ important to us. So seeing him happy is kind of a big deal. You make him happy. All that worry about compromising your friendship? Forget it, okay? Because I can guarantee you that’s the only thing standing between you guys right now.”

“You seem awfully confident about that,” Steve says, looking unconvinced.

“Yeah, because you don’t need to be Heimdall to see the UST between you two all the way from Asgard,” Skye snorts.

“UST?” Steve echoes, looking perplexed.

“It stands for ‘unresolved sexual tension,’” Phil says, appearing in the doorway. Steve and Skye both freeze, not having expected him back to the Bus for another hour. He holds up a piece of paper—one of Steve’s sketches of him, which must have fallen out of the sketchbook when it had been dropped. “I came to return this, but I’m thinking perhaps we should talk.”

The agent directs this statement towards Steve, but shoots Skye a pointed look. The hacker reads him loud and clear, raising her hands in defeat as she brushes past him. She glances back in time to see the door shut behind her and can only hope that the kind of talk they have is the kind that actually goes somewhere.

Later on she finds a simple ‘thank you’ written on a scrap of paper and taped to her door. Neither agent nor soldier can be found, and when she checks the cargo bay, Lola is nowhere to be seen. Congratulating herself on a job well done, Skye marches proudly back towards her bunk and wonders how soon is too soon to make “draw me like one of your French girls” jokes.

(She decides it’s never too soon, but apparently Phil thinks otherwise.)


	17. Quiet Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil has decided that, with a few exceptions, he hates just about anything Asgardian. But it's not as though Steve could have _known_ what picking up that ridiculous staff would do.

Phil has decided that, with a few exceptions, he hates just about anything Asgardian. Rare is the occasion when anything of Asgardian origin presents itself as something other than a gigantic pain in his ass. Today is no different. It’s not as though Steve could have _known_ what picking up that ridiculous staff would do—as far as he knew, he was just disarming his opponent. Unfortunately, Thor’s warning cry came a second too late. Apparently this Berserker Staff, when wielded by an Asgardian, inspires unbelievable strength and rage within the one who wields it. Given that Steve is human, however… well… it’s not pretty.

According to Thor, the staff feeds off of and amplifies the anger already within someone. What people seem to forget is that Steve can be a pretty angry guy. He’s peaceable, prefers to sort things out with words if he can and in general is calm and levelheaded. Looking at him now, as well adapted as he is, it’s hard for some people to picture the man that was thawed out of the ice: frustrated, reclusive and angry with a world that had moved on without him. That’s gotten better with time, but it’s still there, still hurts.

That’s what Phil thinks of now as he’s being toted by an overly protective Hulk away from the super soldier. The green behemoth had snatched him away before anyone even knew what was happening—something that makes Phil wonder if a being born of anger such as the Hulk could perhaps sense the power the staff held. Hulk snorts in frustration, looking as though he’d like to take care of Steve himself but remaining unwilling to put Phil down.

“Hulk, let me go to him,” Phil says, calmly as he can manage.

Hulk growls in response, and if anything merely tightens his hold on the agent. Phil wriggles in his grasp, knowing he has to get down.

“Listen to me,” Phil tries again. “We can’t hurt him because this isn’t his fault. He needs our help, which is why I need you to put me down so I can try to talk to him.”

“Dangerous,” Hulk rumbles.

“Yes, it is,” Phil agrees. “But he’s hurting himself and others and I can’t allow that to continue.”

Hulk seems to debate this before slowly lowering Phil to the ground. Once he’s on his feet, Hulk stoops down to his level and prods him in the chest.

“He smash you,” Hulk warns, “I smash him.”

There’s something to be said about having a towering green rage monster decide that he likes you enough to smash people who harm you to a pulp, but at this moment Phil can only nod. He doesn’t want to hurt Steve, but the tranquilizers haven’t taken him down and at this point, hurting him may be unavoidable. That is, if Phil can’t talk him down.

“Alright,” Phil says. “But give me time to talk to him first. And if you have to take him down, please try not to hurt him too badly.”

“Not stupid,” Hulk says indignantly.

“No, you’re not,” Phil agrees.

With his eyes locked on Steve, Phil slowly begins edging his way into the fray. Steve is the first to notice his arrival, but not the last. Recovering himself from a pile of debris, Thor’s eyes go wide when his gaze finds Phil.

“Son of Coul, you must not approach him,” Thor implores. “He will not recognize you.”

“Coulson, what the _fuck_ are you doing?” Clint adds, making an impressive effort of remaining upright despite the fact that blood is running down half his face. “He’ll kill you!”

“Quiet, all of you,” Phil says evenly. “Let me handle this.”

He continues walking slowly forward, hands upraised peaceably and making no sudden movements. No one moves. No one dares. Steve stares at the agent, transfixed, chest heaving and blue eyes wild as he drops Natasha. Phil’s gaze finds her as she hits the ground—she’s hurt, but she’ll live, from what he can see—before moving quickly back to Steve. Any movement from anyone could break the spell that seems to hold the soldier captivated. Admittedly, Phil doesn’t have much of a game plan. This is all off-the-cuff, but it’s the only thing he can think to do that might stop them all from pummeling each other for five minutes and which might prevent one of them from getting killed.

“Steve,” Phil addresses him. “I know you can hear me.”

The soldier shakes as he makes an effort to control the rage consuming him, but Phil can see he’s fighting an uphill battle.

“I know you’re fighting and I know how difficult it is for you,” Phil continues, gradually moving closer. “I know you don’t really want to hurt anyone, either. That’s not who you are. _This_ isn’t who you are.”

Phil thinks he sees that hard blue gaze soften, just a fraction, thinks he sees the captain’s shoulders relax, marginally. A brief look of confusion flickers across Steve’s face before being replaced by anger once more. It’s chipping away at it, but he’s getting through. He knows he’s getting through to him.

“You don’t want to hurt me, so let me talk you through this. Let me help,” Phil says, just a few feet away from him now. “The things you’re feeling now, all that anger and negativity, that’s okay. But Steve, the staff is just amplifying those emotions. They’re always going to be with you, but you have to understand that what’s happening now isn’t how you should be feeling those things.”

That look of confusion is back and then a flicker of something else—there’s a brief moment of clarity on Steve’s face that causes Phil’s heart to leap into his throat. Thor had said that Steve wouldn’t recognize him, but it’s working. A quick glance at the god of thunder reveals his surprise, but no one moves to stop him. Phil can hear his heart hammering as he comes face-to-face with the captain, close enough to reach out and touch. He does so, slowly, hesitantly. Steve tenses, but allows the contact.

Phil can feel how hard Steve is fighting to regain control. His whole body is taught with it, rigid with the strain of containing the kind of rage that one person was never meant to hold. Steve’s eyes fall shut and his brow furrows and his jaw clenches and Phil’s heart aches to see him hurting himself like this.

“Just let it go,” Phil instructs, squeezing his forearm. “You have to let it go. You’re close, you just need to relax and—“

It all happens very quickly.

There’s an explosion in the background—a gas line disturbed by the battle, he thinks—and the tenuous hold on control Phil had helped Steve gain is gone in an instant. He snaps. Phil is quick on his feet, talented when it comes to split-second decision making and reactions, but he could never hope to be a match for Steve. The first blow he dodges, twisting to evade the punch, but he’s not so lucky on the second. He can’t ever say that he’s been struck by Steve before and, as it happens, he’s sure he never wants to repeat the process.

The super soldier’s fist catches him square in the middle, just under his ribs. The bright eruption of pain takes his legs out from under him and he nearly hits the ground. Nearly, because a hand grabs him roughly by the back of his suit coat and yanks him upright again. The first punch had been agony, but as Steve holds him up to deliver a second and a third, Phil’s certain he feels something in him break. Ribs, probably. Hell, maybe even his spine. God only knows at this point.

He’s not sure when or why, but he’s dropped. He hits the ground and he’s vaguely aware of some kind of struggle going on around him. All he can focus on is the fact that he can’t breathe. It’s like his lungs have forgotten how to draw oxygen into them. There are a few panic-filled moments where he lies in a sort of stagnant terror before he’s at last able to draw a great, gasping breath. His chest is on fire. He loathes the idea of having to do it again, to continue breathing.

Luckily, it seems that consciousness is working in his favor and rather than fight the darkness creeping in on the edges of his vision, he gives in.

Phil has seen better days. He’s seen worse ones, too. Much worse. All the same, his current condition is not optimal. It feels as though he’s been hit by a bus and, loathe as he is to rely on pain medication, the slightest movement sets his chest and stomach on fire. Breathing is painful, though not quite the same searing hell it had been when Steve had first hit him. He’s not the only one banged up, either. Natasha and Clint had gotten the worst of it and are doing about as well as he is. Steve himself  had been injured rather terribly when Hulk had reacted, but he’s healing well.

From what Phil hears, anyway. Steve had yet to make an appearance and Phil hasn’t been allowed from his bed to chase him down. (Not that he thinks he’s even remotely capable of it yet.)

“Couple of broken ribs, ruptured spleen, a few bruised organs, some lovely internal bleeding,” Tony rattles off, flipping through his chart. “I’d say you’re lucky that’s _all_ that happened.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t punch straight through me,” Phil admits, wincing as he shifts in his bed.

Tony studies him briefly. “You think he was holding back.”

“I know he was,” Phil answers. “If he was giving it his all he would have—“

“Killed you. In a heartbeat,” Tony says, cutting him off. “Speaking of, I guess now’s a good a time as any to remind you: you’re an idiot. And Pepper wanted me to pass along: you’re an idiot.”

Phil can’t exactly argue. Regardless of their relationship, walking straight up to a super soldier who was Hulked out on some kind of Asgardian power trip had not been one of his brighter ideas. But what else could he have done? He’d been making progress. He might have even succeeded if it hadn’t been for that damned explosion.

“But if you’re convinced that he was holding back, you should let him know yourself,” Tony continues, replacing the chart at the foot of his bed. “He’s been doing a pretty good job of beating himself up over this whole thing.”

“I thought as much,” Phil says with a sigh. “They released him?”

“Yesterday,” Tony answers with a nod. “He’s been sulking at your apartment since then.”

“Tell him that I’d like to see him,” Phil says. “And that it’s not a request.”

“There’s no need.”

Steve is standing in the doorway of the hospital room, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a bouquet of flowers in hand. His blue eyes are dull, framed by dark circles and darker bruises. It seemed as though he’d likely combed his hair earlier in the day, but had run his hands through it far too many times to retain any semblance of tidiness. He stands as tall and straight-backed as ever, but with the air of a man being marched to the gallows.

“Mr. Stark, if you could give us some privacy,” Phil murmurs.

“Sure,” Tony says slowly, glancing between them. “I’ll check on Ms. Rushman and Legolas in the meantime.”

Steve allows Tony to pass before he steps inside the room and quietly shuts the door behind him. He hovers there, as though unsure of his welcome.

“How are you?” Steve asks.

“Sore. Tired, but that’s probably just the drugs,” Phil answers. He studies Steve a moment before continuing. “The hospital released you yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, looking guilty. “I wanted to see you, I just… I needed help.”

“Help?” Phil prompts.

“The staff. There were some lingering effects that I needed help to… control,” Steve says, choosing his words carefully. “Thor took me to see his mother and she helped me with that. I didn’t want to see you until I was sure I was safe.”

Phil watches the way the soldier’s expression shifts as he speaks. It becomes apparent to him that Steve hadn’t avoided him out of guilt; he’d not allowed himself near Phil out of fear of hurting him again. This incident had taken a toll on all of them in some way, but the cost of Steve seems to keep rising.

“Come here,” Phil says, beckoning him towards the chair Tony had left vacant. The captain hesitates. “Please.”

Steve gives in and slides over, resting the flowers on the nightstand and his duffel on the floor before he sits. He meets Phil’s gaze and the agent knows he’s being studied. Steve’s gaze comes to rest on his middle and he knows what he’s in store for.

“Is it alright if I see?” Steve asks quietly.

“Steve, I don’t think—“

“Please. I need to see what I did,” Steve says, his tone firmer this time.

Phil reluctantly gives in with a nod. He lies still, allowing Steve to pull the blanket covering him aside. The soldier moves carefully as he rucks up Phil’s hospital gown. Phil keeps his attention on Steve face and watches his expression go blank at the sight presented to him. That neutral expression crumbles as Steve gently brushes his fingertips across gauze and bruised skin and sutures.

“This wasn’t your fault,” Phil tells him, enunciating slowly and purposefully. “This was because I got in over my head.”

“I could have killed you,” Steve says, tugging the gown back down. He shakes his head as he pulls the covers over Phil’s lower body once again. “I could have killed any of you.”

“You didn’t,” Phil reminds him. “And there’s a good reason for that.”

“I broke Clint’s arm. In three places. Gave him a concussion when I nearly split his head open,” Steve recites numbly. “I almost choked Natasha to death. She still can’t speak yet. I crushed her left hand when she tried to get me to let go of her.”

He swallows thickly.

“And you…”

“Steve, if you had truly intended to kill any of us, you would have,” Phil says. “The fact that you didn’t tells me you were holding back.”

“It wasn’t enough,” Steve says, shaking his head.

“It was. I saw you were fighting it; we all did,” Phil says. He reaches out, taking hold of the soldier’s hand, and squeezes tightly. “You did everything you could, Steve. No, look at me. _Look at me_. You did everything you could. Do you blame Clint for the things he did under Loki’s power?”

“Of course not,” Steve says hurriedly. “But that’s different.”

“It really isn’t,” Phil says. “The choice wasn’t yours. Surely Thor must have explained that to you?”

“He did, but I—“

“Then stop,” Phil cuts him off. “The only one blaming you is you and it needs to stop.”

“You said it yourself; that anger is always with me, always inside of me,” Steve says, staring at their joined hands.

“And? Does your anger control you, or do you control your anger?” Phil asks him. “That staff tapped into that anger and it amplified it. They call it a Berserker Staff for a reason. It draws off of present anger, but it warps it into something monstrous; and that’s just for Asgardians. The effect on a human being is even worse. You never stood a chance and neither would any of the rest of us.”

Steve remains silent and it seems as though Phil’s words might finally be sinking in. Until the soldier bows his head and brings a hand to his face as his shoulders quiver. Phil wonders when he last slept or ate or did anything other than allow himself to be consumed with guilt. He tugs on the man’s hand, prompting him closer. Thor had told him about the staff’s power, how it pulled up your worst memories.

“What did the staff show you?” Phil asks softly.

He gets a quiet sob in return and there’s a sharp pain in his chest that has nothing to do with any of his injuries. Steve does his best to shoulder all of his pain by himself, so it’s rare that he actually allows anyone to see the depth of that pain, to glimpse into that dark place. The soldier inhales shakily, his head hanging between his shoulders as he clasps Phil’s hand between both of his. He kisses the agent’s knuckles.

“Just let go,” Phil says softly. “It’s okay to let it go.”

Steve can’t hold him because of his injuries, but he’ll settle for the soldier laying half sprawled on the bed with his head in the agent’s lap. Phil runs his hand through Steve’s hair, doing what he can to soothe away the hurt in place. It’s going to be a little while yet before Steve can forgive himself, he knows, and a longer while to learn to live with how the staff had drawn his anger from him. For now, he just quiets the soldier’s fears with gentle words and quiets his protests with gentle kisses and waits for the night to quiet them both.


	18. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing Steve remembers is his plane going down. But that's not the last thing that had happened.

Phil watches through the two-way mirror as Jasper calmly tries to explain the situation to Steve. The soldier is a mass of anger and sorrow and frustration, tense and staring at the agent seated across from him as though picking him up and hurling him across the room might do something to make him feel better. Phil doesn’t listen in; Steve’s body language tells him everything he needs to know.

When Jasper finally emerges, it’s with a reserved, sober expression. He closes the door behind him and comes to stand beside Phil, joining him in observing the soldier now that he is alone. Steve’s elbows are propped up on the table and his face rests in his hands. By the defeated slump of his shoulders, Phil knows the conversation hadn’t gone well.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Jasper informs him. “Whatever that spell of Loki’s was, it wiped his memory. It’s like the last two years haven’t happened and he’s just woken up from the ice.”

“I’m assuming Director Fury has plans to keep him here,” Phil says.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jasper admits. There’s a pause before he adds, “I didn’t mention you. I thought—“

“You did the right thing,” Phil says, cutting him off quickly. “Thank you.”

They stand in silence, watching the man on the other side of the glass as he crumbles from the inside. Phil doesn’t have to imagine what he’s going through. They’ve been here before, after all. He wonders, though, how much harder it will be this time. This time it’s not just Steve’s old life that’s been torn away from him, it’s his new one as well. Realizing his pattern of thought equates to admitting defeat in terms of reversing the spell, Phil has to mentally chastise himself. It hasn’t been that long. Just because they don’t understand the magic that’s been used on him doesn’t mean that someone else won’t.

“We’ve got eyes posted everywhere for Loki,” Jasper says, interrupting his musings. “It’s only a matter of time before we catch him and when we do, we’ll keep on him until he fixes this.”

Phil nods in agreement. Neither of them want to discuss the possibility that this could be permanent. Surely something like this can be undone, right? Jasper nudges him with an elbow, nodding towards the soldier.

“Why don’t you go talk to him?” Jasper suggests. “Maybe you can jog his memory.”

Phil frowns uncertainly. “I was there when he woke up. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before in his life. Frankly, I’m not sure there’s anything there to jog.”

“But you can try.”

“But I can try.”

Trying’s all he can do. And he’s going to keep on trying until it either gets him somewhere or one of them is dead. Well, preferably not the latter. So he steps into the room wearing one of his mild smiles and keeps his body language as neutral as possible.

“Captain Rogers? I’m Agent Phil Coulson with S.H.I.E.L.D. I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time…”

* * *

Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since this mess had begun. Two weeks and they’re no closer to finding Loki and no closer to restoring Steve’s memories. But it’s not for lack of trying. Fury had agreed that it would be best of Steve remained with the Avengers in the Tower, in the hopes that it might help him remember something and so that, at the very least, they could watch out for him. Phil has been a solid presence in the soldier’s life, but remains distant enough so as not to arouse suspicion. While the situation has been explained to Steve, Phil has thus-far held his tongue in regards to their relationship and has asked others to do the same.

As much as it pains him to hide it, he believes it’s for the best. The captain is having a difficult time as it is trying to adjust to everything again and the last thing he needs is something as complicated as a relationship thrust upon him. But that doesn’t mean that Phil has given up trying to remind him; he’s just been subtle about it. Doing things like taking him places they used to frequent together, introducing him to films and activities they used to share, any small thing he can think of that isn’t overtly obvious but which might light a spark has been done.

He wonders sometimes if Steve is suspicious of him. If he is, he certainly doesn’t let on. He’s made no move to avoid Phil or push him away. Apparently it’s quite the opposite.

“He asks about you a lot,” Clint says one day over coffee.

“He does?” Phil counters with raised eyebrows.

“Yup. Whenever you’re not around, he asks us about you. He thinks that you’re friendlier with everyone else than you are with him, so he keeps asking if there’s something he did that might make you avoid him,” Clint relates back to him. “Kind of like he’s jealous.”

“Clint,” Phil says gently, holding up a hand. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but please stop looking for something that isn’t there.”

Clint offers him his flattest stare. “Seriously? How long have we known each other? Do you honestly think I would jerk you around like that?”

“Not intentionally, no, but in this case I think you might be interpreting events in a way that you know would spare my feelings,” Phil answers.

“I’m telling you what I see,” Clint says, using his spoon to shift the cereal in the bowl before him. “Not what I think you need to hear. He asks after you whenever he gets a chance and when you’re here, he spends all his time with you. It doesn’t get any clearer than that. I think you should just tell him.”

“I think that would be dangerous,” Phil says.

“I think you’re scared,” Clint says.

“Of hurting him, yes,” Phil admits.

“No, I mean, of being hurt,” Clint corrects him. He shrugs at Phil’s unamused look. “Hear me out here. At the very least you could stand to spend a little more time with him. I know, I know, you’re doing what you can. But you can’t honestly sit here and tell me you haven’t been a little distant.”

Phil knows that Clint has a point. It’s not so much that he’s made an effort to consciously avoid Steve, but rather that he’s been walking on egg shells since this whole thing began. What it comes down to is the fact that Phil isn’t entirely convinced this is going to get fixed. He wants to believe it will, but there is that nagging sense of doubt in the back of his mind. Because things had been good with Steve; more than good. He’d spent so long waiting for the other shoe to drop and just when he’d been convinced it wouldn’t happen… perhaps this is it.

So he’d kept a professional distance from the man he’d shared a bed with for nearly a year because if this couldn’t be resolved, there would be no sense in hurting both of them.

“I just want to be cautious in the event that this isn’t temporary,” Phil sighs. “Until we know that this can be fixed, I don’t want him to feel pressured in any way or uncomfortable with me being around. I suppose that, long term, I could always put in for a transfer if things ever reached that point, but I’d prefer to stay where I am.”

Clint stares at him as he lifts a spoonful of cereal to his mouth. He chews slowly, squinting as he processes this.

“You need to sleep,” he concludes.

“I don’t need to sleep,” Phil counters.

“You look like shit, Phil,” Clint says, in the kindest way possible. “I know you’ve been doing that thing that you do. The whole… constant vigilance until the day is saved thing. We all know. We get it. But if you don’t cool down, you’re gonna snap.”

“I appreciate the concern, Barton,” Phil says, rising from his seat. As far as he’s concerned, this conversation is over. “But until we—“

Whatever Phil had planned to say is cut off by an undignified yelp. His cheeks flush a healthy pink as he reaches behind him and pulls a small dart out of his rear. He’s gaping at the dart pinched between his fingers, his mind growing fuzzy, just as Natasha walks up behind him.

“I’ve been meaning to test out some of my new knockout darts,” she says, patting him on the shoulder. “Thanks for volunteering.”

He says something that should sound like her name, but really just sounds more like a hard ‘n’ followed by a slurred shushing noise. His knees go wobbly and his head is swimming and he should probably feel angry, but he just feels so very, very tired.

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Clint says, sliding over to slip an arm beneath Phil’s as Natasha does the same. “And I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am that I’ve escaped test duty for once.”

“Such a baby,” Natasha responds, clucking her tongue. “You’re not going to want to fight this one, Phil. There’s not much use.”

Phil makes a valiant effort all the same, but Natasha never was one to lie about these things.

* * *

He’s not sure what Natasha had concocted this time, but Phil knows that waking up groggy and confused in a bed in one of the Tower’s guest rooms is not how he would have preferred to spend his day. Moreover, the fact that he’s been stripped down to his undershirt and boxers and a very concerned looking Steve is sitting at his bedside is somewhat alarming.

“Cap’n,” he mumbles, attempting to sit up.

Phil’s more than a little surprised to find his body isn’t quite ready to cooperate. He feels woozy and washed out, his body responding slowly to the commands he’s trying to send it.

“Easy there, agent,” Steve says, rising to push him gently back to the bed. “Just try to relax.”

Phil’s really in no condition to resist at this junction and so allows the soldier to do so. Perhaps this had been Natasha’s true intention; knock him out and then allow him to awake essentially paralyzed so that he and Steve would have to spend time together. Speaking of which, just why is he here, anyhow?

“You passed out,” Steve says, worry evident in his tone. And perhaps… guilt? “Clint tells me you’ve been working nonstop to find a way to fix all of this.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Phil mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

“You can say that, but it’s hard to argue with hard evidence,” Steve says, gesturing to him.

Phil wonders if he should come clean and just admit that Natasha had shot him in the ass with a knockout dart. He decides that it’s something he’s not going to admit to anyone. Ever.

“I thought you were avoiding me for some reason, only come to find that you’ve been working on this all along,” Steve says blowing out a harsh breath. “I won’t lie, I appreciate it. But I really wish you hadn’t pushed yourself until it got this bad.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Phil assures him.

Steve shakes his head. “Well, regardless, it’s happened and I hope you won’t let it happen in the future.”

“I won’t,” Phil replies.

“Good. And now that we’ve got that out of the way, I have to ask…” Steve says. He frowns. “Exactly what is our relationship to each other?”

Phil’s mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. The exact situation he’d wanted to avoid has just fallen right in his lap. He could lie, he could do so easily, but would that really benefit either of them here? Perhaps Clint was right. Perhaps it’s high time he came clean.

“I know we’re co-workers and I know we’re friends, but I think there’s more to it than that,” Steve says. He raises an eyebrow at Phil’s blank stare. “I’m not stupid.”

“No, no, you’re not,” Phil agrees. He exhales heavily, trying to get his brain in gear. His head still feels fuzzy and vacant, not at all what he’d like for this particular conversation. “And you’re right. We are… or were, involved.”

“How long?” Steve asks.

“Nearly a year,” Phil answers.

“Were we happy?”

Phil opens his mouth to answer and realizes he’s not even sure what he could possibly say. There’s really no way to sum up what they were, no neat little bow he can wrap it all up in. A simple ‘yes’ doesn’t seem to suffice here. Yes, they were happy, but they’d been so much more than that. But this is neither the time nor place to selfishly attempt to convey that. This isn’t about him, this is about Steve and doing what’s best for him.

So he simply nods his head and says, “Yes.”

“Then why did you keep this from me?” Steve asks with a shake of his head. “If we’re trying to restore my memories, don’t you think it would help to mention something as important as a relationship?”

“There was no way for me to know how you might react,” Phil answers. “These past few weeks have been trying enough without the added weight of a relationship to consider.”

Steve bristles slightly. “If we were as close as you seem to think we were, then you would know that I’ve never been homophobic.”

That draws a smile from Phil, albeit a small one. It’s an echo from very early on in their association—someone in the media had shot down rumors of Steve seeing another man, based solely on the idea that because Steve was a product of the 1940’s, he must therefore be homophobic. Steve had really lost his temper then and now it looks like he’s none-too-pleased by the idea that Phil could be accusing him in such a manner.

“That’s not the reaction I was afraid of,” he assures the soldier. He pauses, still trying to work his way towards operating like a functioning human being and finding that stringing thoughts together is far more work that it ought to be. “I was there when they pulled you from the ice and I was around as you attempted to adapt to life in this century. It was immensely difficult for you then and, sometimes, it still is. The world moved on without you and the grief you experienced was overwhelming. So now, having to go through all of that again… I did what I thought was best.”

“By lying to me,” Steve says.

Phil’s lips draw into a thin line as he takes the shot. “Yes. I understand that, perhaps, I made the wrong decision. But I only did this because I know you have enough on your plate at the moment without having to worry about my feelings on the matter. Because I know that’s what you would do. I know that’s what you’re doing _now_. And in the event that we’re unable to find a solution to Loki’s spell, I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me or that you were in any way obligated to try to form a relationship with me again.”

“I think those are things I’d like to decide for myself,” Steve says.

Phil nods in agreement. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

“No, I understand. You were just trying to look out for me,” Steve says, waving a hand dismissively. “Like I said, I understand why, even if I don’t agree with it. Just promise me one thing.”

“Go on.”

“No more lying, no matter the reason. If we were a couple, I want you to tell me about it. If there’s even the slightest chance that it might help trigger my memories, I want to know about it.”

“Deal,” Phil says.

“Good.”

They lapse into silence. Well, telling him had certainly gone better than he’d imagined it would, Phil has to admit. He contemplates sleeping again, wondering if the only way to lessen the drug’s effects is to sleep it off and considering that maybe he’s worked himself a little harder than he’d thought. Just as he closes his eyes, his plans change.

“So,” Steve says, leaning forward in his seat like an eager student. “Tell me about us.”

* * *

Steve asks a lot of questions. It might seem demanding to anyone else, but to Phil it’s a welcome bit of release. Having to hide the nature of their relationship had been trying. Phil is all about control and not for one moment would he dream of letting that control slip—he’s better than that—but just because he’d maintained a perfect poker face didn’t mean that he wasn’t bothered by it all. He’d been bothered a great deal.

Talking to Steve about their relationship isn’t the same as having one, but it’s better than where he’d been before. More time passes and before any of them know it, it’s been nearly three months since Loki’s spell had been cast. They still don’t seem to be any closer to locating the trickster and efforts to reclaim Steve’s memories have been futile.

Phil has done everything he can. Whenever Steve has wanted him near, he’s been steadfast and true, never wavering in his dedication. Then there have been bad days, days where Steve is overcome by guilt and sorrow and anger and retreats to his room, shutting himself off from the rest of the world. Phil stays away on those days and gives the soldier the space he needs, patiently waiting for him to reemerge. Steve had decided to resume fighting alongside the Avengers, even as he continued trying to adapt. But as much as Steve was settling in, they were all beginning to grow used to the idea that they’d lost the Steve they’d known for the past two years and that there was nothing left to do but to move forward. Or so they thought.

“Coulson,” Phil says, picking up his phone as he moves through the halls of S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ.

_“You need to get down here. Now. Right now,”_ comes Tony’s frantic voice from the other end of the line.

Phil freezes. “Where are you?”

_“We’re on our way to medical. We found Loki, we got into a bit of a scrum and some magic happened. But Steve’s… he’s freaking out here, Phil. Completely losing his shit,”_ Tony reports, his voice shaky. _“He needs help. You need to meet us—“_

“On my way,” Phil says, cutting the genius off. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

He’s there in three. They’re just bringing Steve in then, and even Thor is having difficulty restraining the captain. The second Phil appears in the doorway, however, Steve freezes. He stares at Phil, eyes wide and round, his chest heaving as he pants for air. There’s blood running down the side of his face and Phil wonders if he’s concussed himself. Thor releases him and stands back as Steve surges forward, capturing Phil in his arms and squeezing him tight enough to make the agent wonder if his ribcage is going to be crushed.

“Steve, talk to me,” he says, patting the taller man’s back.

“I remember. I remember you, and everything that’s happened the past two years, Phil, _I remember_ ,” Steve says. There’s a frightening moment where the captain’s knees go weak and they both drop to the ground. He clings to Phil like the agent is the only thing keeping him moored, shaking like a leaf and drawing great, sobbing breaths. “I forgot you. How could I forget you? Any of you? But you. You, Phil, God… I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, I never should’ve… But you never left. You stayed, even though I couldn’t be… I wasn’t…”

“It’s alright. It’s okay, Steve, just breathe,” Phil says, one hand firmly gripping the back of the soldier’s neck, the other rubbing his back. “Don’t talk right now, just… breathe.”

The soldier is shaking, but then, so is Phil. It’s been months since Steve has held him like this and he’d almost been sure it might never happen again. But as they get Steve to sit on the examination table, see to his wounds and let him talk himself hoarse, Phil’s sure that they really have gotten him back. The next few days he’s tentative, walking on egg shells out of fear of sending the whole thing crashing down on his head.

Nine days after Steve had regained his memories, Phil awakes in their shared apartment and is greeted by a sleepy, smiling soldier beside him. And as Steve leans over him, kissing him in a manner that’s slow and sweet and familiar, Phil finally, finally decides that things really are going to be okay.


	19. Shag Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is it that it's just after Phil's washed Lola that Steve decides he wants to get dirty?

Rare is the opportunity these days when Phil can take time to truly unwind. The first unseasonably warm day of Spring finds him with a day off, being used to treat Lola to a much needed wash and wax. It’s a labor of love—something that’s time consuming and that requires patience and diligence but which he takes great pride in. He’s so focused on his work that he almost fails to notice someone sneaking up behind him. Almost.

“I thought you were out of town for the week,” Phil says, rubbing the microfiber cloth across Lola’s hood in smooth, precise circles.

“We got back a bit early,” Steve says. He hums thoughtfully, stepping right up behind Phil and placing his hands on the agent’s waist. “Well, aren’t you looking casual today?”

Phil chuckles at that, straightening up and twisting slightly for a kiss. An old t-shirt, shorts and a pair of flip-flops are not his usual attire, true, and even when he’s casual, he’s usually not _this_ casual.

“Well I could hardly wear a suit for this,” Phil answers him, facing Lola once more.

“Of course not,” Steve agrees. “Not that I wouldn’t like to see it.”

Phil snorts, a smile twitching at his lips. “So you could see what a drowned rat looks like?”

“I was thinking more along the lines,” Steve says, dipping his head to kiss the pulse point on the agent’s neck, “of getting to see you in a suit, covered in suds and soaking wet, bent over Lola’s hood. And then maybe getting to strip you.”

“Ambitious today, aren’t we?” Phil notes.

“Ambitious is a good word for it,” Steve answers, his voice a heady rumble.

It’s as Steve begins mouthing at his neck, one hand slipping up beneath his t-shirt and a thumb hooked on the waistband of his shorts, that Phil realizes that ambitious is a _very_ good word for it. He’d assumed that Steve would want sex after they’d had a chance to eat dinner and perhaps spend some time together, but it’s clear the soldier has no intention of waiting. Steve grinds slowly against his backside, tugging more insistently at his waistband.

“Steve,” Phil says, his tone warning. “Why don’t you let me finish this up and we can head up to the bedroom. Someone’s going to catch us like this.”

“They’re all gone for the day,” Steve says, popping the button of his fly and toying with the zipper. “Besides, we both know the idea of being caught isn’t as much of a deterrent for either of us as it should be.”

Phil has to concede that point. Considering they’ve had sex in his office, had sex in a tent while their team was sleeping a few feet away, and had sex in any number of other potentially compromising positions, claiming they shouldn’t now because they might get caught is about as weak an argument as they come. Steve unzips his fly teasingly before slipping his hand inside and cupping him through his underwear.

“We should get supplies,” Phil says, giving in as Steve palms him slowly.

“I’ve got lube in my pocket,” Steve says.

“I can’t believe you actually came prepared for this,” Phil huffs his cock twitching at the idea.

Steve retracts his hand, tugging the agent’s shorts and underwear down. “Not so much for this. I figured I would get you into bed, but catching you bent over Lola with your ass in the air made up my mind.”

“But try not to make too much of a mess, alright?” Phil says, stepping one foot out of the pool of clothing at his ankles and leaning forward, bracing his hands on Lola’s hood. “I just washed her.”

“We can always wash her again when we’re done,” Steve suggests, popping the cap on the lube.

The fact that Steve suggests this tells Phil that making a mess is all part of his plan; a thought that sends a shiver down his spine. They’d figured out pretty early on that Steve tends to get riled up when things get messy, so it’s no surprise here that the soldier has made an offer to re-clean Lola. What does turn out to be a surprise is when Phil is suddenly drenched in water. He sputters, shaking his head and turning around the glare indignantly at his partner. Steve just smiles unrepentantly, holding aloft the now wrung-out sponge Phil had been using to clean Lola.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Phil demands.

“Well, I said I wanted to see you covered in suds and soaking wet, didn’t I?” Steve asks him.

Phil grumbles, pulling at the hem of his soaked t-shirt in dissatisfaction, the wet fabric clinging to him as he drips and a puddle forms beneath him.

“You could have at least warned me,” Phil says.

“There’s hardly any fun in that,” Steve says, kissing his forehead. “It’s a shame we don’t have your glasses nearby, though.”

Phil’s cheeks flush slightly at the soldier’s words. Sometimes it still catches him off-guard; the fact that he has the ability to arouse Steve, that is. Especially now that they’re facing each other. Glancing just below the soldier’s belt tells him that Steve likes what he sees. A lot.

“So what do you think? Am I wet enough for you, Captain Rogers?” Phil asks.

He smiles triumphantly at the small groan this earns him as Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head, attempting to remain focused. Phil complies when Steve lays hands on his shoulders and gently turns him around again, adjusting him until he resumes his prior position. Steve nudges his legs further apart before pressing the first, heavily lubed finger inside him.

“I think I could stand to get you a little wetter,” Steve says, as though accepting a challenge.

This is probably one of Phil’s favorite parts. Sure, he loves the sex, but being prepped by Steve is… different. It’s not that the prep itself is all that much better than any of Phil’s previous partners, but rather the _way_ Steve goes about it that makes it memorable. Because Steve doesn’t do this as a means to an end. It’s done slowly and deliberately, undertaken with the kind of care that few people seemed capable of mastering.

And Steve talks to him. He tells Phil how much he’d missed him, about the times he’d thought about him when he was away, about the nights he’d wished he didn’t have to go to bed alone. It could just be sweet talk, meant to get Phil worked up, except it isn’t. Not with Steve. With the way he talks, you’d think he _wasn’t_ four fingers deep inside him, thrusting and curling and leaving Phil’s body screaming for him to replace them with something else.

Only when Steve feels he’s done this proper does he withdraw. By this point, Phil is achingly hard and could damn near weep with joy at the sound of Steve’s belt being undone in conjunction with his zipper being tugged down. He hears the soldier squirt a liberal dose of lubricant in his hand and knows without looking that Steve is going to give himself a good few strokes before anything else. At last, Steve’s hands are back on his hips, holding him steady as the blunt head of his partner’s cock nudges against him.

“Ready for me?” Steve asks.

“Ready and waiting,” Phil says with a huff of laughter.

Steve takes that as the go-ahead. Phil inhales sharply, hands balling into fists on Lola’s hood as Steve enters him. In this way, he’s slow and deliberate as well. He rocks his hips, pressing a little further inside him each time; a method he knows Phil both loves and despises. There are times when Steve will take him hard and fast, and times like these where he draws it out, making Phil suffer and revel in that suffering. Steve stills once he’s proceeded as far as he can, but not for long.

“Can you lift your right leg for me?” Steve asks him.

Curious, Phil does as requested. As he’s doing so Steve places a large palm flat against his chest, pulling him up. They end with Phil’s right knee braced against the hood as they stand back to chest. The new angle drives Steve deeper within him, drawing a slow, satisfied moan from him.

“I thought I’d try something new,” Steve says.

Without warning, the soldier picks up where he’d left off. Their position limits how much he can draw out, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem as Steve’s hips drive into him at a steady pace. Phil is essentially being held upright by Steve’s arm locked across his chest, his hand up under Phil’s damp t-shirt. As he’s fucked with quick, shallow thrusts, the captain’s free hand moves purposefully towards his cock.

“Oh, fuck me,” Phil gasps as Steve begins stroking him from base to tip, never once losing his rhythm.

There’s a breathy chuckle in his ear. “Kinda thought that’s what I was doing.”

“Trust me, you’re doing—oh, Jesus—you’re doing a good job of it,” Phil answers.

In no time at all, he feels himself drawing close to the edge and that’s when it hits him. Panting, he looks straight down and has a fantastic view of Steve’s hand pumping his cock—right over Lola’s hood. The soldier’s intentions hit him like a ton of bricks, sparking arousal and indignation in the pool of his stomach.

“Steve,” he says, doing his best to sound commanding, but really only sounding as wrecked as he feels. “Don’t you _dare_.”

Steve’s response is just to fuck him harder, grunting with the effort of doing so and holding them both upright. “Told you we’d wash her after.”

Phil shakes his head, mouth clamped shut as he knows there’s no hope of anything like a coherent sentence leaving him. He tries to pull himself back from the edge, away from the climax rushing towards him, but that only seems to spur Steve on.

“Come on, Phil,” Steve pants in his ear. “Don’t hold back. I’ve been dying to see you come for me like this.”

There’s something in the way he says it, something in his tone of voice that leads Phil to believe this isn’t something Steve had just come up with. No, it’s that barely whined, mostly moaned tone of voice that implies nights of desperately jerking himself off to a fantasy that he’s now living out. Picturing that, Phil loses his tenuous grip on self-control. Picturing Steve, alone in his quarters, flat on his back in bed, legs spread as he strokes himself to the thought of doing this to Phil, does him in. His body jerks as he comes, painting Lola’s cherry red hood with thick, white shots of come.

“Just like that, Phil,” Steve moans, breathing heavily. “Just like that, perfect, _perfect_ …”

Phil gives in to the sensation, pleasure rippling through him like waves at low tide. He lets it wash over him, arching back against Steve as his hips continue to move of their own volition. There are those concentrated, explosive orgasms that leave you screaming until you’re hoarse, and then there are these. It’s like a slow burn, gradually intensifying until his whole body is thrumming with it, his every nerve ending singing in pure bliss. It’s the kind that takes his breath away and leaves his mind wonderfully blank, free of the preoccupations that he’s usually weighed down by.

Steve knows just what he’s doing; drawing it out as long as possible. Just when Phil thinks he’s beginning to come down, a thrust of the hips and a twitch of the wrist act as a prod against hot coals, keeping the flame burning. He trembles as the fire runs its course, until it’s low and smoldering, unable to stoked back to life.

Steve strokes him to completion, eventually allowing gravity to gently take over until Phil is resting against Lola’s hood once again. The soldier rolls his hips, just enough so that Phil can feel his own, sticky release rubbing against his bare stomach and his t-shirt, which remains hiked up to his chest. Steve stops abruptly and for a moment, Phil thinks he’s about to come… but he doesn’t.

“Do you think you could lie on your back for me?” Steve asks him.

“Not quite doing it for you this way?” Phil asks, still catching his breath.

“Not that, it’s just that I’d like to see your face,” Steve answers.

Phil can’t argue with a request like that. He waits for Steve to pull out, giving himself another moment to breathe before rising and turning around. The agent settles himself against Lola’s hood and lies back, waiting for Steve to make the next move. Instead, the soldier stands before him, his eyes taking in every detail before him in a manner that Phil can only describe as hungry.

The moment doesn’t last, as Steve swoops in and positions himself over Phil. The agent hooks his legs around Steve’s waist as the soldier guides himself inside. Phil’s sensitive following his release, but thankfully not enough so that the sensation is too much. Steve braces his hands on either side of Phil, hovering over him as he picks up where he’d left off, his hips snapping forward with purpose. Phil settles his hands on his partner’s shoulders as Steve’s tempo changes, his thrust coming hard and fast—enough so that Lola is rocking on her wheels. All the while, Steve’s gaze never leaves him.

He can tell the captain is getting close to his finish as his movements grow less coordinated. Phil pants vocally, the sensation on his overtaxed nerves leaving him in a pleasured limbo; he won’t come again, but that doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy it. Steve begins panting his name, his movement reduced to thrusts so shallow that he’s hardly pulling out at all, and Phil knows he’s about to come.

Steve rests his forehead against Phil’s, his eyes clamping shut as he reaches his climax. He sighs and makes the most wonderful noises, his mouth hanging open as his cock throbs within his partner. Phil pets his head soothingly, shuddering in satisfaction as Steve comes inside him. He continues to wiggle his hips with limited motion, but it’s just enough to provide the desire effect as he draws Steve’s orgasm out in the same way the soldier had done for him. Steve’s hips will twitch now and again, coinciding with another warm, wet shot of come filling him, until the solider is absolutely spent.

The captain groans, his weight settling more heavily against Phil now that they’ve finished. The agent hums, pressing a kiss to the taller man’s lips. He’s kissed back slow and wet and a little clumsily—a manner that usually speaks of a bout of great sex.

“Remember you have to help me clean Lola,” Phil murmurs against his lips. “You’ve made quite a mess of us.”

“Mm. Only if I get to clean you up after,” Steve answers, reaching between them to run his fingers through the cooling release smeared on Phil’s stomach.

Knowing full well what Steve’s idea of cleaning up will entail, Phil can only chuckle as he says, “Deal.”


	20. Tell Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Steve wonders if he's coming on a little too strong.

Of all the people in the world that Steve could possibly fall for, it would be just his luck that it was a dead man. Or so he thought, anyway. Discovering that Phil wasn’t quite as dead as they’d thought he was had been a bag of mixed emotions; feelings of anger and betrayal were prominent, but what really struck him was the sudden and overwhelming sensation of hope.

There had been an awkward period where Steve had wondered just how to go about approaching the agent. Subtle inquiries with mutual acquaintances let him know that Phil was, at the very least, interested in men as well as women. But did the agent see him in that light? _Could_ he see Steve in that light? He was still trying to work all of this out when Phil surprised him by taking the initiative—because apparently he hadn’t been quite as subtle as he’d thought he was being.

Their first date was simple, and yet ultimately the most rewarding thing Steve had experienced in quite some time. One date became two, then three, then four, and Steve was more than happy to continue. There was just one problem. The more dates they went on, the more Steve noticed that something seemed… off about Phil. The more time they spent together, the more he became aware of the fact that any time the opportunity for something more than just kissing arose, Phil would suddenly be tired or need to go home or remember that he had somewhere else to be.

The more Steve looked at it, the more he began to wonder if Phil was doing this because _he_ wanted to… or if it was because Steve wanted him to.

“Can we talk?” Steve asks.

He’s standing on Phil’s doorstep, hands in his pockets. He’s supposed to be picking Phil up for a date… but he really can’t put this off any longer. For his part, Phil looks equal parts apprehensive and resigned to what’s about to happen.

“We probably should,” the agent answers, stepping aside to allow the soldier entry.

They migrate towards the living room, sitting side by side on the sofa. Phil sits with his hands folded in his lap, waiting to see what Steve has to say.

“I’ve had a great time with you, being with you,” Steve begins, a soft, honest smile on his face. “But I’ve gotta wonder… do you actually want this?”

“Of course,” Phil answers without hesitation.

“It’s just that you’ve seemed a bit hesitant,” Steve says. “I’m trying to figure out why.”

That flighty, anxious look is back as soon as the words leave his mouth. The agent might say he wants to date him, but what he says could be vastly different from what he really wants. Judging by the look on his face, that seems to be the case here. Steve’s about to assure Phil that it’s fine to tell him the truth, that he’d prefer to hear it, but the shorter man beats him to the punch.

“I’ve got a confession to make,” Phil says.

Steeling himself for what he knows to becoming, Steve nods for the other man to continue.

“The reason I’ve come across as hesitant is because…” Phil says, letting his sentence drop off. He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Steve, the truth is, I’ve never had sex with a man before.”

There’s a moment of silence as Phil’s admission hangs in the air between them. At last, Steve’s mouth seems to catch up to his brain just enough for him to form roughly coherent sentences.

“Really? You haven’t?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “But you’ve dated men—“

“And ended it before it got physical,” Phil interrupts him, looking more than a little ashamed of himself.

“And that’s it? That’s the only reason?” Steve asks.

“Yes. I know I should’ve told you from the start, it’s just that I wasn’t quite sure how to bring something like that up,” Phil says, shaking his head. “It just feels a little ridiculous. A man of my age…”

“Phil, it’s fine,” Steve assures him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “If anything, I’m relieved that’s all it is. I thought I was coming on too strong or that you felt pressured into dating me.”

“That’s definitely not the case, I can tell you that much,” Phil replies.

With a relieved smile stretching across his face, Steve leans in for a kiss and is pleased to find that Phil meets him, more than willing. Careful not to spook the agent, the rests a hand on Phil’s knee and draws away from their kiss just enough to ask a question.

“You’ve never had sex with a man before,” Steve echoes, his words soft and breathy. “Would you like me to show you how?”

There’s a moment where Phil’s eyes are glazed over with want, where he murmurs a “Yes” as he leans in, intent to get back to their kiss. Until, quite suddenly, he freezes. Pulling back from Steve, Phil looks at him with wide eyes, as though he’s seeing him in a completely different light.

“When you say that, you mean you’ve—“

“Well, yeah,” Steve says, shrugging one shoulder.

“Oh,” Phil says faintly.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Steve asks.

“No, no, just… there seems to be a general expectation that I’m the one with the experience who will be teaching you,” Phil says. “I knew that my half of that equation was false, but I guess I hadn’t expected it to be false on your end, too.”

“Funny, what other people expect from a relationship that isn’t theirs,” Steve observes dryly.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been an idiot,” Phil says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Since everyone’s been making comments about me… _showing you the ropes_ , I took it to heart. I kept wondering if you would be looking to me to take the lead when I had no clue what to do and I panicked.”

“Phil, I told you, it’s fine. And we can take things as slow as you like; there’s no rush,” Steve says. He hesitates before adding on, “Assuming you want to continue seeing me, that is.”

“And I told _you_ that I do,” Phil repeats. He shakes his head with a soft huff of laughter. “You’re taking all of this very well.”

“It’s easy when it’s better news than I’d been hoping for,” he says, patting the agent’s knee. “I’m glad we talked.”

“I am, too,” Phil says. There’s a moment of comfortable silence between them before he clears his throat, looking to the soldier questioningly. “I know we had plans to go out tonight, but what would you say to staying in?”

Reservations be damned, Steve thinks to himself; tonight they’re staying in.


	21. Unbind Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's three weeks before they find where Phil had been taken and as they prepare a rescue, Steve's afraid of what they might find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol this one is literally all over the place i don't even
> 
> *****SPOILERS FOR CAP 2 AND AOS*****

It’s been too long—far too long—since Phil was taken. Steve studies the files before him, not because he’s unfamiliar with their content, but because he needs to feel like he’s doing _something_ other than just waiting. They’ve got a location and they’re heading there now, but worry gnaws at him endlessly. The first time Phil had been abducted by Centipede, his team had S.H.I.E.L.D. resources at their backs to recover him as quickly as possible.

Now, though, with S.H.I.E.L.D. in pieces and HYDRA running rampant, they don’t have that luxury. He knows John Garrett is looking to do whatever it takes to figure out what methods were employed to bring Phil back from the dead; something that Phil himself is still primarily in the dark about. The last time he’d been recovered in a few days. Today marks nearly three weeks since his abduction and Steve’s been kicking himself every step of the way. A cup of coffee slides into his frame of vision and he looks up to see Jasper Sitwell settle against the other side of the counter.

“Figured it couldn’t hurt,” the agent says, gesturing to the coffee he’d left there.

“Thanks,” Steve sighs.

Jasper shrugs silently, drinking out of his own mug and staring down at the map in front of him. If fighting HYDRA hadn’t been cut and dry before, it was certainly even less so since Jasper had joined them. As it had turned out, the agent hadn’t been ripped out of a car and thrown into oncoming traffic by the Winter Soldier—but his LMD had been. The real Jasper Sitwell—the one currently standing across from him, looking as tired and haggard as Steve feels—was being kept in a lab beneath a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. facility overtaken by HYDRA. The story is complicated, but it boils down to the fact that Jasper had been Fury’s inside man for years before he was eventually found out by HYDRA and brainwashed into submission.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Steve inquires, straightening.

“Shoot,” Jasper answers.

“How long did it take them to break you?” Steve asks, as carefully as possible.

To his credit, Jasper doesn’t shy away from the question, doesn’t flinch. He’s gotten better at hiding any feelings brought on by what he’d been through. He shrugs and the motion would probably look as unruffled as he was aiming for had he been trying to pass it off on nearly anyone else.

“I think it was weeks,” Jasper says, “but it just as easily could have been months. I don’t really remember many of the details. I try not to, anyway.”

Steve nods. “I’m just wondering if we’re too late for him.”

“We were too late the second Garrett took him,” Jasper corrects him. “As much as I hate to say it, Phil was already broken to begin with.”

It stings to hear it, but it’s not exactly a lie. Thinking about how much HYDRA has taken from all of them, and from him personally, gets his blood boiling like nothing else. People they thought they could trust turned against them, people they trust taken from them… Cut off one head and two more spring up in its place. They may be too late to stop them from breaking Phil any further, but Steve refuses to believe they’re too late to take him back.

“May says now would be a good time to suit up.”

 The two of them look up as Natasha joins them, settling beside Steve and flicking idly at the files displayed on the holotable. She’d found her way to them when word had gotten to her that Phil had been taken—how that word had gotten to her none of them can say, but Natasha has her ways and none of them question it.

“So are you and that cute biochemist going to start talking to each other or am I going to have to book a marriage counselor?” Natasha asks, leaning against the counter.

“I’m going to check in with the rest of the team,” Jasper says, ignoring her comment. He picks up his mug and moves away from the table. “Let me know when you’re suited up.”

Steve sighs as the agent retreats and turns a disapproving eye on Natasha. The assassin looks entirely unremorseful, but then, he hadn’t expected her to act contrite for his sake. She never has before, after all.

“You shouldn’t tease him,” Steve murmurs.

“If he and Simmons bring their personal issues into this mission, it’s asking for problems,” Natasha retorts. “We need an open line of communication between everyone. Any kinks in the line and—“

“You’ve made your point,” Steve says, cutting her off. “There won’t be a problem.”

“And you’re absolutely sure about that?” Natasha questions.

“Do you think I’d risk Phil’s life on something I wasn’t sure about?” Steve retorts, folding his arms across his chest.

“Not intentionally, no,” Natasha answers. “But I think you know just as well as I do that trust is at a premium these days. So be careful with it.”

Steve’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Natasha, if you know something—“

“I don’t,” Natasha says. “I’m just saying that this team has already been infiltrated by HYDRA. I don’t know them, so I can’t say whether Grant Ward is the end of it or just the beginning. And when you factor in Sitwell, let’s just say I’m keeping on my toes for this one.”

Steve mulls that over as he’s preparing for the task ahead of them. He stares down at the shield in his hands and remembers how he’d gotten it back in the first place. It was thanks to this shield that Steve found out that Phil was alive. When they’d recovered it, they had of course found a way to get in touch with him about returning it… which meant Phil’s secret hadn’t been much of a secret after that. But he’s grateful. He’d made some good decisions since then, in regards to Phil, and he only hopes that this will be another one.

* * *

“The one benefit of having your head fucked with by HYDRA,” Jasper says quietly as they approach their target, “is that you become a really, really great tour guide for their facilities.”

They’d slipped away while Natasha, May and Sam were handling Deathlok and Ward, intent on extracting Phil as soon as possible. Steve’s entirely in the dark on this one, as none of them knew the layout to this particular facility… aside from Jasper. As he follows closely behind the agent, Natasha’s words come to mind. But he trusts Jasper. He does. He’d been brainwashed, no differently from Bucky, it wasn’t his fault. They’d found him and set him right, there’s just no way he could be…

“This way.”

Steve nods, following him to a set of double doors. Jasper nods at the doors, then stands back, allowing Steve to kick them in. Surprisingly, there are only a handful of personnel inside, who raise their hands in surrender almost immediately at the sight of them. Only one person remains where they are, seemingly unimpressed with their entrance. But Steve only has eyes for Phil. The agent is strapped down to a table

“I wondered when you might lead them here,” Raina says, clearly directing the comment at Jasper. “I was hoping to have a little more time with him.”

Phil bucks against the heavy restraints keeping him strapped to the table, his screams muffled by the mouthguard in place. His eyes are rolled back in his head as he convulses from… whatever that machine is doing to him. Jasper finishes tying up the last of the scientists with zip ties and follows after Steve.

“Turn it off,” Steve growls, storming over to Raina. “ _Now_.”

“We can’t, not until he’s given us what we want,” Raina says smoothly.

“Wrong answer,” Steve says, his voice a dangerous hiss.

“Let’s be honest, Captain. You’re not going to hurt me,” Raina says with complete confidence.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to answer. Raina staggers right after a gunshot rings out beside him. Jasper doesn’t waste any time and pushes past him, reaching down to drag the woman up from where she’d fallen.

“You know, I’m sure you’re right and that Cap wouldn’t take any pleasure in hurting you, but I guess it’s just bad luck for you,” Jasper says, squeezing her arm until she whimpers, “that I’m not him. I don’t know if you’ve taken into consideration that I’ve already got a bone or two to pick with HYDRA and right now? What you’re doing to him? It’s really, _really_ pissing me off. So here’s how this is going to play out: you tell us how to shut this down without hurting Phil, or I lose my temper—“

Steve doesn’t move to stop him as the agent cocks his gun, instead turning his attention back to Phil and working on getting the restraints undone.

“—and I get one of the eggheads I tied up to do it instead. Understand?”

Steve doesn’t bother to look up. He keeps his gaze focused on Phil, placing his hand square in the center of the man’s chest, doing his best to calm him in any way he can. He tears the remaining restraints away just as the machine is being powered down. Phil’s screams die down to whimpers and gradually to soft, meaningless noises as he stares at the roof of the machine, his eyes wide and round and vacant. Steve begins checking him for injury, noting with disgust that there are injuries on the agent’s body that have already been attended to. Bandages and gauze and bruising and fresh wounds that hadn’t been seen to yet… because he’d been left in their hands for three weeks. They’ve been torturing him, trying to force him to comply with their wishes, and then treating the wounds they’d inflicted because they needed him alive. _For three weeks_.

Knowing he can’t allow guilt to cloud his mind just yet, Steve grips his partner by the chin before gently pulling the mouthguard out and tossing it away. He keeps one hand on Phil’s chest, the other moving to press against his cheek. Three weeks’ worth of growth brushes against his palm and some distant part of Steve thinks of how much the consistently clean-shaven agent would hate to see the state he’s in.

“Phil, can you hear me?” Steve asks.

He doesn’t give any indication that he can, still staring up with that empty gaze, so Steve tries again, only to get the same response. Even as Steve begins lifting him from the table and shifts him into his arms, Phil remains catatonic, staring straight ahead, unmoving. The only change Steve detects is that, once in his arms, Phil begins to shake, violent tremors running through the length of his body.

“Is it bad?” Jasper asks, rejoining him.

“It’s bad,” Steve affirms.

“He’s in shock,” Jasper says, fingers pressed to the pulse point on his fellow agent’s neck. “At the very least.”

“Raina—“

“Tied up with the rest,” he assures the soldier, indicating where she’s huddled with the scientists. “Why, did you think I was gonna kill her?”

“I think you thought about it,” Steve says, standing up.

Jasper looks at Phil, looks over to Raina. He shrugs. “Yeah, I thought about it. Probably a little longer than I should have.”

Steve sighs heavily. “Let’s just get him out of—“

There’s an explosion and a crash as the far wall caves in and Steve ducks, tugging his shield out and holding it before him as he yells for Jasper to get behind him. They choke as dust floods the room and further explosions rattle the ceiling above their heads.

“Sounds like things are getting messy,” Jasper observes with a cough. “And the last place I want to be when there are explosives involved is an underground bunker.”

Steve thinks this is a fair point and is about to comment on it when, not for the first time today, he’s interrupted. It’s just that this particular interruption isn’t one he would have thought would be occurring. Jasper is suddenly yanked off his feet and thrown, too fast for Steve to react. But as the dust begins to clear, he can see the agent is being held aloft by the neck, his throat being choked by a metal arm.

“Bucky!”

The man’s head snaps in his direction. They’d heard reports about someone taking out HYDRA bases, some saying it was the work of the Winter Soldier, but what kind of twist of fate could have brought them both to the same base at the same time?

“Drop him,” Steve says, shifting Phil over to one arm as he holds his free hand up in a placating manner. “I know what you’re doing, what you’ve been doing. But he’s not HYDRA, he’s with us. You need to drop him.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, his grip tightening. Jasper struggles ineffectually against his captor, clawing at the metal hand tightening around his throat.

“He was brainwashed by them,” Steve says, his tone growing firmer by the second. “He’s with us. Drop him, Bucky, please.”

Bucky stands silently, eyes boring into Steve’s. His gaze swivels to Raina and the scientists huddled in the corner, then back to Steve and, interestingly enough, to Phil. For a moment, Steve wonders if he’s going to have to fight his best friend—again—when Bucky suddenly drops Jasper and steps back.

“Bucky,” Steve tries, taking a hesitant step forward. Bucky backs up a step to match. “Bucky, come with us. We can help.”

He gestures towards Jasper, who is still struggling to regain his breath, not having moved from where Bucky had dropped him.

“We helped him, we can help you, too,” Steve says. “Just come with us.”

Bucky hesitates and for a moment, Steve thinks he might actually go with them. But before he can try again, an explosion rocks the bunker, knocking all of them to their knees. He curls protectively around Phil, holding his shield over both of them. Disturbingly, Phil doesn’t make a peep. Through this entire exchange, he’s been still and silent aside from his shivering and the occasional soft, breathy whimper.

“It’s alright,” Steve says. “I’ve got you. We’re getting you out of here, I promise.”

He lifts his shield when he determines it’s safe to do so, only to find that Bucky has disappeared. Getting to his feet, he hurries over to Jasper, who’s on his knees and coughing heavily.

“Alright?” Steve asks, glancing worriedly at the ceiling.

“Fantastic,” Jasper answers hoarsely. He gestures to Phil. “I’ll take Phil. Get after him.”

Steve hesitates. He wants to go after Bucky, he wants his friend back more than he can say. But he needs to get Phil out. He needs to make sure Phil gets out personally. He needs to be sure Phil is _going_ to get out.

“No, let’s go,” Steve says. “I need you to help me get all of them out of here.”

Jasper gives him a funny look, but doesn’t argue, and together they herd their captives towards the exit, Steve clutching Phil tightly to his chest all the while.

* * *

Steve watches through the glass as Jemma wraps up Phil’s treatment. It’s been quite an ordeal for all of them and as glad as he is to have Phil back with them, his worries are far from over. Phil’s been sedated, but he’d remained catatonic up until that point, so there’s no telling what sort of state he’ll be in when he wakes.

“May spoke to Hill,” Jasper says, coming to stand beside him. His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “She broke the news to Stark and he’s setting up a secure facility where we can bring him for treatment.”

“How did he take the news?” Steve asks.

“That Phil’s alive?” Jasper answers. “About as theatrically as you’d imagine Stark would.”

Steve hums in recognition. He supposes he’s going to have to have a long talk with the genius. A long, long talk.

“In the bunker,” Jasper says, breaking his thoughts, “you didn’t trust me, did you?”

“I’m sorry?” Steve says.

“You didn’t trust me with him,” Jasper says, grimacing as he tries to clear his throat.

Steve opens his mouth to answer, but can only summon a sigh. He scrubs a hand across his face before running his fingers through his hair.

“I wasn’t sure,” he admits. “I thought I did, but at the last minute, I wavered. It took us three weeks to get to him and the idea that something could happen to Phil because I ran off to chase Bucky wasn’t something I was willing to allow. Just that little bit of doubt, that maybe we hadn’t helped you as much as I was trying to convince Bucky we had, that maybe we hadn’t pushed HYDRA back as much as I claimed… I couldn’t, and I’m sorry for that.”

Jasper takes the words at face value, nodding silently and staring past the glass. Steve isn’t proud to have said it any more than he’s proud of the fact that some small part of him wonders if Natasha just might be right. He wants to trust the man standing beside him and up until today, perhaps he had. But that tiny seed of doubt had turned out to be not so tiny at all. Jasper still has a long road ahead of him in terms of earning back the trust others once had in him. In a fair world, he wouldn’t have to—after all, he hadn’t asked to be tortured and manipulated by HYDRA—but they don’t have that luxury. Steve wants to believe in the agent beside him in the same way that Phil does, the way he never _stopped_ believing.  Someday they’ll get there… but today is not that day. Not quite.

“Well, what’s important is we got him back,” Jasper rasps.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Hopefully in time.”

Jemma emerges from the room, looking even more drained than when Steve had spoken to her last, which is truly saying something. She offers as bright a smile as she can muster and while it’s clear she’s in low spirits, Steve appreciates the effort and can’t help but feel a bit of pride in Phil’s stead at how she’s kept her chin up through all of this.

“I’ve taken care of his physical injuries as best I was able. As to his mental state… Agent Coulson remained unresponsive to any sort of stimuli as well as exhibited other symptoms of a case of catatonia. I’ve given him a mild sedative and I’ve done everything I can to make him comfortable,” she informs them. “Unfortunately, with our limited resources, I can’t tell you much more about his condition until we get him to a hospital. And we need to get him to a hospital, as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Jemma,” Steve says. “You’ve been amazing.”

She shakes her head and he knows she’s wishing she could do more. “If you’d like to see him now, you can go in, Captain.” Her posture straightens suddenly as she turns to look at Jasper. “Agent Sitwell, I’d like to take a look at your throat.”

Jasper seems caught off guard by the announcement and shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“You can barely speak,” Jemma says firmly. “Now, please.”

Steve eyes the dark bruises around the agent’s throat before clapping him on the shoulder. “Better let her take a look.”

Jasper gives in, of course, because he hasn’t quite figured out how to really say ‘no’ to Jemma yet. Steve lingers outside the medpod, watching as Jemma leads Jasper down the hall towards the lab. Jemma had been second only to Phil when it came to the people who weren’t willing to give up on Jasper, even when everything—and everyone— told them they should. But the fact that Jasper had been under HYDRA’s influence when he’d begun seeing Jemma had dealt the relationship a serious blow that they’re still attempting to recover from. He only hopes Jasper’s actions today might help them all take a step in the right direction.

Once he’s sure he’s alone, he steps inside the sealed room and takes note of the fact that Jemma had left a seat beside the bed for him. He’s glad that the team had opted to give him some privacy, but knows how much they want to be here with him, too. Settling into his seat, he reaches out and takes one of Phil’s hands in his own and squeezes as gently as he’s able. He leans forward in his seat and bows his head, holding Phil’s hand between both his own. Minutes fly by and the only way he can truly tell the passage of time is by the dull ache in his lower back and stiff shoulders. It’s only as he hears the heart rate monitor begin gradually beeping faster that he looks up, terrified of what might be happening. What he doesn’t expect is to find Phil’s eyes on him, staring straight at him as he breathes heavily into the mask over his mouth and nose.

“Phil? Can you hear me?” Steve asks, half-rising out of his seat.

Phil’s breath hitches and Steve hears a soft croak in response. At the very least, Phil can hear him. He places a hand on the agent’s chest, the other still gripping Phil’s hand tightly.

“You’re alright. You’re back on the Bus,” Steve tells him. “Just take your time and breathe.”

Phil’s eyes never leave his, even as his breathing gradually slows.

“Really you this time?”

The question had been murmured so quietly that Steve nearly missed it. It sounded as though Phil had been asking himself more than Steve. There’s a sharp, painful tug in his chest as he comes to the realization that at some point through the torture and sleep deprivation and pain, Phil must have hallucinated a scenario like this one. He’d hallucinated Steve coming to rescue him, only to find himself back in his captor’s hands once it had faded. More than once, by Steve’s guess. He does his best to put a smile on his face and squeezes the hand in his.

“Yeah, it’s really me,” Steve assures him. “I swear, it’s me.”

Phil’s expression is guarded, edging back towards that vacant, catatonic state he’d likely lapsed into as a protective mechanism. Not willing to let him slip backwards again, Steve reaches up with both hands, cupping the agent’s face as he kisses his forehead.

“I’m so sorry it took us so long to get to you. I’m so sorry for everything they’ve done to you,” Steve says, feeling the shorter man begin to shake at his words. “But I swear to you that it’s really me and it’s over now. We won’t let them take you again. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, Phil.”

He hears a choked sob and that’s all he needs to gather the shorter man into his arms. He holds him close, gently whispering reassurances as Phil cries quietly into his chest. They may have rescued him hours ago, but until now, he hadn’t truly left. Perhaps he hasn’t even now. Maybe he might yet slip back into the hell they’d pulled him from; but if that’s the case, then Steve’s going to be there to pull him out of it. Every time. As many times as it takes.


	22. Value Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes love means leaving someone to spare them from pain. And sometimes love is sharing that pain.

“Self-pity doesn’t suit you.”

Phil closes his eyes and inhales deeply, doing his very best not to scream. He’d retreated to this diner with the intent of having some time to himself, but it would seem that’s just not in the cards for him. When he opens his eyes, it’s just in time to see Bucky slide onto the bench across the table from him. The Winter Soldier doesn’t look especially happy, but then, considering Phil had just ended his relationship with Steve not even an hour ago, that’s hardly any surprise.

“It’s not self-pity,” Phil says, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug. “I need some time alone.”

“You dropped Steve on his ass and then ran away with your tail tucked between your legs,” Bucky corrects him, leaning back in his seat. “I know self-pity when I see it, Coulson.”

“I’m in no mood to be lectured by anyone; least of all you, Barnes,” Phil answers, failing to keep his rising agitation out of his voice. “Leave. Please.”

“Not until you figure out that running away won’t do you—or anyone else—any good,” Bucky retorts.

“This is all for the best,” Phil says, frowning as he stares into his coffee mug.

“I’ll admit that it might be the best thing for S.H.I.E.L.D., but how is it the best thing for you? Or him? Your team? The Avengers? How is this good for anyone?” Bucky presses.

Phil doesn’t say anything, just wraps his shaking hands tighter around his mug as his lips draw into a thin line. Stepping down and asking Maria to take his place as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was the best thing he could have done. He’d rebuilt the organization, just as Nick had wanted, but when it came right down to it… Phil had no desire to lead S.H.I.E.L.D. He wasn’t capable of it. More than that, he knows he’s not fit to be the Director at present. Over the months, his sleep has grown more troubled and his fits of hypergraphia have made their way into his waking hours. They’ve grown longer and more intense as time has worn on. Even now he can feel it—like bugs crawling under the skin of his hands, his fingers twitching, itching to put pen to paper or knife to tabletop or arrowhead to wall, _anything_ so long as he can get this stream of thoughts out of his head and written down.

It had started with hypergraphia—then the other side-effects had begun to manifest themselves. Episodes of aphasia became more common and fits of catatonia began to follow his hypergraphia. The only remaining side-effect he’d recorded in test subjects—complete psychosis—had yet to manifest itself. There’s no way to tell if it ever will, but at the very least, he’s going downhill quickly enough with just the other three.

Knowing what happened to the test subjects of Project T.A.H.I.T.I. who had come before him has left him uncertain where he will be six months from now—or who he will be, for that matter. S.H.I.E.L.D. needs a leader, now more than ever, and Maria fits the bill in every way he could possibly conceive. If he’s sure of any of his recent decisions, it’s this one.

“Say something,” Bucky says.

Phil refuses and continues to stare into his coffee mug. This man has no right to come here and interrogate him. He doesn’t owe him any answers.

“ _Say. Some. Thing_ ,” Bucky growls, leaning across the table.

“ _God dammit, I’m losing my mind, Barnes_!” Phil shouts, slamming his fist down onto the table.

People are staring. He knows the whole place hasn’t gone silent, but it feels like it has because he’s burst the bubble, the code of silence of the people who wander into places like this at hours like these. He feels hot. His palms itch. He has a vague recollection of fumbling for the cash to cover his bill and stumbling out of his booth before he finds himself in the parking lot, breathing heavily and staring up at the night sky.

He loves space. He’s always loved space. One of his earliest memories is of sitting on his father’s knee and watching the Moon Landing. Up until his father’s death, he’d harbored dreams of becoming an astronaut. Some people say that space seems smaller since Thor, since New York, but Phil thinks it’s just the opposite. Space only seems more grand, the possibilities more infinite than ever before.

“Hey. _Hey._ ”

Suddenly the stars are gone, replaced by a pair of angry blue eyes—like chips of ice—and the sensation of cold metal at his jaw.

“Look at me, Coulson,” Bucky says. His eyes search Phil’s face. “Phil. You with me?”

It feels like it always does when he comes down: like he’s falling, like someone turned up the gravity and he’s heavier than he should be. His head throbs and his knees wobble and his arm stings. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Fine.”

“Where are Lola’s keys?”

Phil digs into his pocket and fishes out said keys as Bucky loosens his grip on the agent’s jaw. The Winter Soldier keeps a firm grip on his arm, however, and were he not in such a daze, Phil might be ashamed at the way he allows Bucky to lead him like a small child towards Lola. Bucky takes the keys from him, unlocking the passenger side door and herding Phil into the seat.

“Wait here,” Bucky says. “I’ll be right back.”

Phil finds himself nodding and watches Bucky retreat back towards the diner. The second the other man disappears inside, he stares down into his lap and finds just why his arm had been stinging. The left sleeve of his shirt is hiked up to the elbow and the underside of his forearm is bloody and raw, the cryptic inscriptions that have haunted him for months carved into his skin. His right hand is closed tightly around a knife—one from the diner, it looks like—his knuckles white from his grip. The metal is dripping red and he shakily tosses the utensil to the ground at his feet before pressing his hand to the freely bleeding wounds on his arm.

“You done carving yourself up like a Christmas ham?”

He looks up just as Bucky kneels in front of him, making a ‘gimme’ motion for his arm. Phil holds it out to him without fuss, letting the other man squirt a bottle of water over the cuts before pressing a handful of folded up napkins to his arm to staunch the bleeding.

“Steve said it had gotten bad, I just didn’t think it was quite this bad,” Bucky says.

Phil doesn’t want to say that he’s unsure if Steve really, truly knows just how bad it is. Phil is pretty sure that the only one apart from himself who knows how far down he’s fallen is kneeling before him, pressing diner napkins to his mutilated forearm.

So instead he says, “Why are you here, Barnes?”

“What kind of bullshit question is that?” Bucky snorts.

“You’re here because I hurt Steve,” Phil sighs. “But what are you looking to accomplish by coming after me?”

“I want to hear just why you think you had to do this and I want to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth,” Bucky says.

“I think that should be fairly obvious to you at this point,” Phil says.

“What, this?” Bucky says, nodding towards his arm. “It’s more than this.”

“My mental faculties are deteriorating. It used to be that things like this would only happen one night every few weeks. And then it was a night every week, then a few nights a week, then every night, and then every night and sometimes during the day,” Phil says, watching as the red begins to stain through the white napkins. “I lose track of time. I lose track of myself and of other people. Everything I worked so hard for—what everyone worked so hard to build with me—I could have destroyed it all if I’d stayed.”

“That gives me a reason for S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Bucky says. “That doesn’t give me a reason for Steve.”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” Phil says.

“Indulge me for a little,” Bucky retorts.

Phil sighs and swipes the back of his free hand across his forehead.

“You’re here because you don’t want to see him hurt. I’m here for the same reason,” Phil explains.

He’s tired. He’s so very, very tired. What he wants more than anything at the moment is sleep, but he knows he won’t have any even if he tries. Sleep is inevitably interrupted by these patterns in his head, this insatiable need to write. Bucky need to understand, but Phil’s not sure that he had the energy or the eloquence at present to make it happen.

“He’s had enough to deal with. Peggy. You. S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Phil says, sagging into Lola’s passenger side seat. “I’ve already given him enough grief and the idea of causing him any more is unbearable. I’ve seen how much it hurts him to watch Peggy just…”

He shakes his head, exhales shakily.

“And I can’t do that. I can’t put him through that. I don’t want him to have to watch me go down that path,” Phil says. “Steve will stay with me, no matter how bad it gets, because that’s who Steve is. You know that as well as I do. Better, even. So that’s why I have to be the one to end it; because I know he won’t.”

“And you think that by breaking up with him, he’s going to just stop worrying about you?” Bucky asks, looking entirely unconvinced.

“I know he’ll worry but it’ll be easier if we’re not—“

“No. It won’t,” Bucky cuts him off sharply. “And I can’t think for a second that you really believe this will be any easier on him. Christ, you make this sound like a death sentence. Stark and Banner are working on finding a way to help you—“

“And nothing’s working,” Phil says, just as sharply. “Nothing’s working. Even S.H.I.E.L.D.’s top scientists couldn’t figure out a way to negate the side-effects of GH-325 and as talented as Stark and Banner are, as gifted as any of our people are, things aren’t looking up.”

“And your solution is to give up?” Bucky asks, squeezing his arm hard enough to make the agent wince. “I wasn’t under the impression that you were a quitter, Coulson.”

“I’m not giving up, I’m trying to be responsible.”

“Because that worked out so well for you last time.”

Phil doesn’t have to ask what Bucky’s getting at. Namely, how long he’d hidden his resurrection from everyone. Yes, that had gone spectacularly well. What Bucky is trying to tell him is no mystery to him and while he understands it, that doesn’t mean he agrees with it. He knows how badly he’d hurt people with his secrecy and that’s why he’s trying to be as open with this now as possible.

“I’m taking you home,” Bucky declares, standing up.

“I can’t,” Phil says.

“You can, because even if you still feel the same about this in the morning, you need someone to watch you tonight to make sure you don’t hack up your other arm, too,” Bucky says, nudging him further into the seat before shutting the door.

It says something that he’s too wrung out to even consider telling Bucky not to touch Lola, never mind drive her. But as it is, he finds he can barely keep his eyes open. It would figure then, that Bucky finds this an opportune time to try to talk to him.

“I thought Steve was nuts when I first met you,” Bucky says.

“I remember,” Phil mumbles.

“I hated you.”

“I remember that, too.”

Bucky stops there. For a moment, Phil wonders what the point of it even was, but supposes that if he’s now allowed to get a little rest, then it doesn’t matter. Of course, just as he’s beginning to drift off, there comes the voice of the Winter Soldier once more.

“I changed my mind. Over time, I mean. I started to see what it was he saw in you,” Bucky explains. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and Phil almost tells him to knock it off. Almost. “Listen, the thing of it is, I like you. I think you’re good for Steve and I think he’s good for you. You’ve got way more guts than people give you credit for and as long as I’ve been around, you’ve always had his back. You’ve done right by him. If it were anyone else to take off on him like this, I’d say good riddance, who needs ‘em. But I know you’re doing this because you don’t want him to have to deal with you if things go south.”

“Things have already gone south,” Phil mumbles.

“Further south, then. South Pole. I get that. I came out here after you because I respect that you’re trying to protect him from something, but you’re doing it wrong,” Bucky tells him. “You know that it doesn’t matter if you break up with him, if you move halfway around the globe, he’s still gonna find a way to be there for you because it’s what he _wants_ to do. And now I’m gonna throw back at you a piece of advice you gave me: it might not be such a bad thing to let him help you. Because that stupid punk loves you and I know you feel the same way.”

“It’s too much,” Phil says quietly, eyes closed tight against the sudden sting. “I can’t ask that.”

“You don’t have to. We’re going to go back to your apartment and you’re going to sleep and talk it over with him in the morning and you’re not going to run away from this, understand?” Bucky presses.

Phil mumbles something noncommittal, but that seems to be enough for the other man. He finally drifts off, but he’s fairly certain he rouses just enough to know he’s been moved from Lola to a bed (his own, probably) before he goes back under. He doesn’t know how long he remains asleep, but when he wakes, it’s not to what he’d expected. It’s not like the way you’re supposed to wake up. It’s like kicking up from the bottom of a murky lake, the outside world becoming clearer as you break for the surface.

He’s shivering, breathing heavily, his arm hurts again. He’s sitting, but he’s being held from behind. He recognizes the feel of Steve’s body against his own, the soldier’s hand pressed firmly to his chest. Steve is murmuring soothingly in his ear and Phil sees why. The same, strange symbols he'd cut into his arm are now carved into their bedroom wall. There’s a knife on the floor and there’s blood on it and beside it and—god, _whose blood_?

“Jesus,” Phil breathes out, squirming against Steve’s hold on him.

“It’s alright. Phil, you’re alright,” Steve says, holding him in place. “Just relax. Come back to me, it’s okay. Just come back.”

“Steve, whose blood is that? Steve did I—…? Oh, god,” Phil chokes, struggling until he’s allowed to turn around.

“It’s not that deep, it’s fine,” Steve assures him, allowing him to examine the wound on his shoulder. “I startled you while you were in the middle of it and I should know better than—Stop, Phil. Look at me. Look at me, now.”

Phil can’t stop shaking, his eyes fixated on the wound to Steve’s shoulder as he draws increasingly frantic breaths. He’d done this. He’d attacked Steve, had hurt him. What if this was it? What if this was the beginning of a psychotic break? What if he hurts someone else? What if he hurts Steve again? What if it’s worse next time? No, there can’t be a next time. This can’t be allowed to continue, he can’t put anyone in any further danger.

But if he has any ideas about going anywhere, Steve clearly has other plans. The soldier herds him close, wrapping his arms around Phil once more and cradling the agent against his chest. He shushes Phil gently, his hand running soothingly up and down the shorter man’s back in an effort to calm him.

“Just focus on breathing for now, okay? Just let yourself calm down, don’t rush it,” Steve coaches him. “It’s gonna be okay. I swear, we’ll make it okay.”

It takes time for Phil to work through the aftermath of his episode. As much as he’s telling himself he needs to leave, he finds himself clinging to the safety that Steve offers him, quite literally clinging to him, as the soldier holds him tight. It’s still dark in their bedroom, but the sky is beginning to lighten outside the window by the time Phil has calmed down. He feels washed out, weary beyond reason. His body begs him for the sleep that his mind has deprived him of and for a moment, the idea of allowing himself to drift off like this is entirely too appealing.

But he remembers what’s happened. He remembers why he’d left in the first place and he stiffens, realization clearing his foggy mind and pushing him to wakefulness. He feels Steve respond in kind, his gentle grip growing firmer to keep him in place.

“Stop. Stop it, just stay with me,” Steve says. Phil feels the soldier’s head rest on top of his own, hears the whispered, “Stay with me.”

“I can’t,” Phil says against his chest. “It’s getting worse.”

“Bucky told me what you said. Why you think you have to go. You’re wrong,” Steve says resolutely.

“I’m sorry that it has to be like this,” Phil says truthfully.

“That’s just it: it doesn’t,” Steve says, pushing him away just enough so that they can look each other in the eye. “This isn’t like you. Giving up like this. We don’t know that Tony and Bruce won’t pull through, or that any of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s scientists won’t.”

“I just want to be prepared,” Phil says. “It was an eventuality with all the other test subjects. And if it happens I don’t want you to… to have to see me like that.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Whether you choose to end this relationship or not, I’m in this for the long haul, because that’s what you mean to me, Phil,” Steve says insistently.

The soldier studies him carefully, blue eyes boring into his as his hands rub up and down Phil’s arms.

“Neither of us have said as much, but I think you and I, coming into this… I think we both knew this wasn’t just going to be a simple relationship,” Steve says quietly. “If you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you. If that’s what you really want, I’ll accept that. But don’t walk away because you’re afraid or because you don’t think you deserve my support.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Phil tells him, swallowing thickly. “I did, tonight, and I don’t even remember doing it. I don’t want to risk that happening again, or happening worse, or happening to anyone else. I don’t want to hurt anyone and I can’t promise that I won’t.”

“Phil, you’re a good man,” Steve says.

“That’s not what this—“

Steve cuts off the agent’s objection with a kiss. He pulls Phil towards him until the shorter man is sitting in his lap and Phil, for all his reservations, can’t help but melt into the comfort that he’s being offered.

“You’re a good man, with a good heart,” Steve says against his lips, their foreheads pressed together. “You’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, the one that matters most to me. Being with you for whatever happens next isn’t some burden you’ve placed on me; it’s what I want to do. It’s not something I think I’m obligated to do. Sometimes loving someone means leaving them to spare them pain and I know that’s what you were trying to do. But love is more than that. Love means sharing that pain. I know you don’t want to hurt me, but this is my choice as much as yours and I choose to stay. I love you and I choose to stay because you’re worth staying for, Phil. You’re worth whatever pain comes with it because not being with you is going to make this hurt a hell of a lot worse for both of us.”

Phil doesn’t want to give in. Something in him—the part that has trouble asking for help, that has to do everything on his own—tells him that he has to be strong enough to handle this himself. He can’t rely on Steve to shoulder this burden with him. But he’s afraid. The thought of dealing with this alone terrifies him. And somehow, he knows, Steve knows this.

“In the morning, we’ll get you checked out. We’ll plan around this, we’ll make sure we have safeguards in place,” Steve says quietly. “We will do absolutely everything we can to make sure no one gets hurt while we wait for a solution to all of this. But you’re not doing this alone, understand? I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”

Phil had known Steve wouldn’t budge on the matter. He just hadn’t expected his own will to crumble in the face of it. In the pale light of the coming dawn, he knows that his future is full of uncertainties, but for better or worse, he won’t be facing them alone.


	23. Wed Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposure to a chemical weapon has some unexpected side-effects on Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one point [baruchsbalthamos](http://baruchsbalthamos.tumblr.com) and I were talking about [that video where the guy wakes up after surgery and hits on his wife](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DiviQfLyQX4) and decided it would be hilarious if I wrote a Capsicoul version of it. So I did.

This has become a routine in their lives that Phil can honestly say he doesn’t care for. How many times has he come hurrying down these halls, wondering what sort of state he’ll find Steve in? How many times has Steve done the same for him? He’s not sure if it’s worse or better that he has company on this occasion; Jemma scurries anxiously alongside him, intent on reaching their destination with all due haste.

“Back. Back in that bed this instant!”

As they’d rounded the corner, it was to the sight of Jasper waving off orderlies as he made a valiant attempt at escape from his room. At Jemma’s sudden outburst, however, he freezes like a deer in the headlights.

“It’s not that bad—“

“No.”

“I swear I’m—“

“ _No._ ”

“Jemma you’re—“

“Bed. Now. Not another word,” Jemma says with finality, already shooing the injured agent back towards his recently vacated bed.

Jasper shoots a last, desperate look over her at Phil, but they both know he’s not going to do anything to intervene. They’ve all had the dubious pleasure of Jemma’s bedside manner at one point or another, but being that Jasper had opted to court the biochemist, he had even less of a leg to stand on when it came to refusing her. Knowing Jemma will look after Jasper, Phil continues on, stopping to ask a passing nurse for directions.

He walks swiftly down the hall, sidestepping passing staff, patients and agents before he comes to the room he’d been directed to. A long-suffering, but highly relieved, sigh escapes him at the sight of the two people inside. Sam Wilson is sitting propped up in a bed, arm in a sling and looking more than a little roughed up. In the bed beside him is Steve. Phil slows his steps, thinking at first that the captain is asleep, but as he draws near, he can see that the man is at least semi-conscious.

“Fair warning: he’s a little out of it,” Sam says. When Steve murmurs something about a monkey in a suit, Sam amends his statement. “Okay, more than a little.”

“What happened?” Phil asks.

“They hit him with some kind of chemical bomb. Supposed to cause confusion, I guess,” Sam says, enthusiastically digging into his Jell-O cup. “Anyway, the doc said he’s just gotta let it run its course and once it’s out of his system, he should be fine. But she’ll probably be able to tell you more about it than I can.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Phil says, dragging a chair over to the super soldier’s bedside. “How are you holding up?”

“Oh, got myself a broken wing and some bumps and bruises, but they suspect I’ll live,” Sam says.

“Glad to hear it,” Phil says.

“Can we sit up at all?”

Steve’s groggy question interrupts the conversation. The bed is fully reclined and Steve struggles to sit up until Phil lays a hand flat on his chest and gently pushes him back towards the bed.

“In a minute,” the agent says. “I’ll see if they’ll let you up, okay?”

Steve stares blankly at him, blinking owlishly. He squints up at Phil, but doesn’t resist the gentle push against his chest and lies back against the bed.

“Did the doctor send you?” he slurs. Before Phil can put together an answer, Steve tacks on, “Man, you are eye-candy. _Whoa_.”

“Oh my god I’ve gotta record this,” Sam nearly squeals with delight, grabbing his phone from the nightstand.

“Sam, please,” Phil half-laughs.

“You… You might be the most handsome fella I’ve ever seen,” Steve mumbles on, unfazed by their conversation. “Like a… John Bond. No. I mean James Bond. Yeah. Like that. You’re like that.”

“Well, uh… thank you, Steve,” Phil says, clearing his throat as the soldier reaches out to drunkenly pat Phil’s tie.

“Who are you?” Steve asks, looking terribly curious for all his confusion. “What’s your name?”

Phil can’t help but crack a fond smile at that. “My name’s Phil. I’m your husband.”

Sam is nearly in hysterics in the next bed as Steve stares up at Phil, his eyes going comically round as his mouth forms an ‘o’ of surprise.

“You’re _my_ husband?” Steve croaks.

“Yes,” Phil chuckles.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Steve says, closing his eyes and clumsily scrubbing a hand over his face. “Dang. Hooooooooooo boy. How long?”

“About a year,” Phil responds indulgently.

Steve opens his eyes, looking up at Phil with sleepy wonder. “Do we have kids together?”

“No, no kids,” Phil says. He adds under his breath, “Well, not exactly anyway…”

“Oh, man,” Steve breathes, continuing on. He starts to try and sit up again, “Man, have we kissed yet?”

“Shhhhhh,” Phil shushes him quietly, once again placing a hand on his chest and pushing him gently back down to the bed. “Just lie back and get some rest, okay?”

Steve groans at that. “I’m trying… I’m trying, baby, it’s hard.”

Sam snorts as he laughs and Phil feels his face heating up.

“Do we call each other ‘baby’?” Steve asks. “How long’ve we been married?”

“Long enough,” Phil says, running a hand through the soldier’s hair. “And hopefully for a long while yet.”

Steve practically purrs at the attention, his eyelids drifting shut briefly before he blinks himself awake again. He stares up at Phil as the agent watches him with fond eyes. Slowly, a large, goofy smile begins to stretch across his face and he laughs giddily.

“Oh my god, I hit the _jackpot_ ,” Steve proclaims. He reaches up. “Lemme… lemme see yer face.”

Phil sits still, trying to ignore Sam’s unbridled glee as Steve clumsily runs his fingers over his face.

“You got… gorgeous eyes,” Steve hiccups. “Perfect.”

Phil catches the soldier’s wandering hand, grabbing hold of it and placing a kiss on his knuckles. “Well, you certainly know how to flatter a man, Steve.”

“We’re _married_. Wow,” Steve repeats, whispering it in disbelief. He blinks slowly, his attention caught by Phil’s hand. Very deliberately, he raises his free hand and points to the gold band on the agent’s ring finger. “Did I get you that ring?”

“You certainly did,” Phil tells him, unable to stop the swell of emotion in his chest at the reminder.

“Wow, I musta really been likin’ you,” Steve mumbles.

“Believe me,” Phil says, leaning forward and placing a kiss on his forehead, “the feeling’s mutual.”

* * *

“I don’t remember any of this,” Steve says as he watches the recording, his face fire engine red. “Did I really say all of this?”

“You did,” Phil answers, slipping into the seat beside him on the sofa. “To be fair, you were very heavily drugged. It took you a full day to work it off and that’s with the serum working in your favor. And in case you’re wondering, yes, I made sure Stark didn’t upload this anywhere and threatened him in ways that I won’t repeat so he wouldn’t feel tempted.”

“Thank god for that,” Steve sighs.

“Mm,” Phil hums. “How are your ribs?”

“Sore,” Steve answers honestly. “Getting better.”

“I can run you a bath before dinner,” Phil suggests. “Let you have a nice long soak.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Steve says distractedly. “Hey, Phil?”

“Mm?”

“You know, I was just thinking,” Steve says, twisting the wedding band on his own finger. “I may have been drugged when I said all those things, but it was all true, in its own way.” He huffs a laugh. “I really did hit the jackpot when I married you.”

There’s a picture on the mantle. There’s a whole album full of pictures, but of all of them, this is the one they chose to frame. They’d taken a break from dancing when Pepper had asked them to pose for the photo. Steve had stood behind Phil, his right arm wrapped around the shorter man’s waist and his chin resting on the agent’s shoulder. Phil’s right hand had rested over Steve’s as they each raised their left hands, showing off matching gold wedding bands on their fingers.

With a smile like the one in the photo, Phil leans over, kisses Steve on the cheek and says, “Like I told you, the feeling’s mutual.”


	24. X Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A "Break Me" was requested for werebear!Phil, so here's a little angsty drabble.

“Want to go for round two?” Phil asks, Destroyer Gun at the ready.

Loki clucks his tongue, nodding at the weapon. “Not if you’re going to try _that_ sorry old trick again.”

“I know what you’re thinking, but the thing is… I’ve kind of grown attached to it,” Phil admits. “You know how it is, Thor has his hammer—“

“Oh, yes, completely understandable,” Loki agrees, nodding with a very serious air. “But won’t it be rather boring for you?”

“Well, if you’ll pardon my constructive criticism, you really didn’t do a very good job of killing me the first time,” Phil points out. “So from past experience, I’m willing to take my chances.”

“I appreciate the critique. Really, I do. And you’ll be pleased to know that I do, in fact, learn from my mistakes,” Loki says with a wicked grin, advancing towards him. “You can be assured you’ll receive the death you’re owed this time about.”

Phil stands his ground, even as he feels the hairs rise on the back of his neck. In all honesty, this isn’t where he’d like to be right now. Whether Loki can tell or not, he’s afraid; and he has the sneaking suspicion that Loki _can_ tell. Outwardly he maintains his composure, but the idea that he’s really tempting fate here weighs heavily on his mind. Especially considering, well… it’s not really as though he’s completely recovered from the _last_ time he’d been in this situation. But eyeing the Avengers—sans Iron Man and Hulk, who have still yet to arrive to the party—all stunned into near paralysis, he hasn’t exactly got a choice. So he’s got to stall.

Speaking of stalling, now would be a _very_ nice time for his backup to make an appearance.

“Loki… _enough_ ,” Thor commands, bowing under the weight of his brother’s magic, amplified by the stolen staff in his hands.

“Phil, don’t engage him,” Steve adds, struggling to rise.

He can see the panic in their eyes, the worry and the fear. He offers a mild smile, his gaze never leaving Loki.

“It’s a bit late for that, Captain,” he answers.

“A bit late indeed,” Loki agrees.

Several things seem to happen at once. Someone cries out just as he and Loki attack. Loki dodges the blast from the Destroyer Gun, but can’t escape a combined assault from the newly arrived Iron Man and Hulk. Unfortunately, Phil’s about as lucky as Loki is, as the god’s attack hits him square in the chest. All he can see is bright, green light. He feels himself fall, feels himself hit the concrete. He thinks he hears shouting, but it’s all fading away. Everything’s fading out, really.

It feels different than the last time, but then, last time he’d lived, hadn’t he?

* * *

When Phil wakes, he’s surprised that it actually happens. He’d been surprised the last time, too, but putting the odds at oh-for-two on Loki’s part just seems like some enormous, cosmic joke. Still, as consciousness gradually returns to him, he knows something’s… off. He’s slow to fully wake, but when he does, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

He opens his eyes, and immediately regrets it. A pack of emotionally wound Avengers, assorted others, plus Nick Fury looking ready to tan his hide makes him wonder if perhaps death would have been the better option. He opens his mouth to defend himself and is surprised when, instead of words, he emits a series of growls. Knowing he’s not going to like what he sees, he looks down. Where his hands should be there are two great paws and every inch of him is covered in thick, brown fur.

He’s a _bear_.

A vaguely distressed noise escapes him. He’d already undergone his transformation this year. He’s not supposed to be like this.

“Be glad that’s _all_ that happened to you,” Jasper pipes up.

“Loki flew the coop with Amora’s help, so until we can get ahold of him, it looks like you’re going to be stuck this way,” Steve comments, looking a mixture of exhausted, exasperated and outright furious. “Unless you know of a way to turn yourself back.”

Phil can only shake his head.

“Which means we’ll have to wait to hear whatever explanation you can come up with for why you thought going up against _Loki_ was a bright idea!” Nick explodes. “Were you out of your _goddamn mind_?”

Phil snorts in agitation. Well, it’s not as if he had a choice. And suddenly everyone seems to have something to say about what an idiot he is, and whether not he had any idea what he was doing, and why didn’t he just stay behind like he was supposed to? Needless to say, a minute or so of everyone shouting at him—and each other—has his temper rising faster than it would have any right to, were he human. But at present he isn’t. At present he’s a bear. At present he can’t speak. So he does the one thing he _can_ do and, lips curling back in a snarl, he roars at them in frustration.

That gets them all to shut up pretty quickly. Unfortunately he’s at something of a loss over what to do next. Without the ability to speak, he’s left sitting dumb while they stare at him. He sighs heavily, slumping marginally forward as he does so.

“Why don’t we just head back to the Tower,” Bruce suggest, looking about as tired as Phil feels. “We’re not solving anything by sitting around here and I think Agent Coulson might be more comfortable in his quarters.”

Phil could just about kiss the man for his timely intuition.

“So how are we going to transport old Fuzz Butt?” Clint asks.

Phil snorts in annoyance. Old Fuzz Butt? Really?

“Take a Quinjet,” Fury tells them. “You can cram his furry ass in the cargo hold.”

Phil isn’t sure how long he’s going to be stuck this way, but however long it is he’s got a feeling it’ll be too long for his liking.

* * *

Over the years, Phil has grown used to being a bear. He’s had to. Since he was a child, he’d had to learn to adapt to his situation so that by this point in his life he knows well enough how to handle himself. That is not to say that he finds the whole thing any more desirable than he did as a boy. Especially not this time around. This time around he isn’t prepared.

Usually he starts to feel the warning signs a month before his actual transformation. He’ll find himself craving things, needing to snack more often than he normally would. It gets worse as time goes on. His mood will begin to fluctuate and he’ll find himself needing to sleep for longer and longer periods of time. It becomes almost debilitating in the final week as he loses more and more control and, though he retains his human mind, he becomes an animal in nearly every other sense.

The point is that he has time to transition between the two stages. On this occasion, all of that is suddenly thrust upon him. He knows it makes him hard to put up with, and he feels sorry for that. It’s not easy having to live with a moody, uncooperative werebear and he understands that, but he’s not exactly in the mood to place nice. The reason for this being that he’s been approached by assorted Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel over the course of the past week who have all felt the need to “talk” to him about his actions.

It’s not as though Phil is blind to their concern. He knows what he did was foolish at best, he’s not about to deny that. He knows how it’s affected the people around him. But as sympathetic as he is to the fact that he’s caused everyone a great deal of grief, it doesn’t excuse the fact that each and every one of them has used the fact that he can’t talk back to their advantage. It’s a hell of a lot easier to berate him when they know they’re safe from any backlash.

So when Steve comes round to “talk” he finds he’s not in the most hospitable of moods. Especially not since he and Steve have barely seen each other since all of this happened. He hardly expected them to continue to share a bed—not exactly possible at this point, really—but his partner hadn’t been around lately. If anything, he’d say Steve has been avoiding him.

“Phil?” the soldier calls questioningly.

Phil doesn’t bother to turn around, just stays where he is, curled up by the window watching clouds pass. That doesn’t deter his visitor, who simply walks closer.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” Steve tries again.

When Phil feels a hand on his back, he does what comes naturally: he growls. The hand retracts quickly and he feels a brief spike of remorse before he remembers why he’s angry in the first place. He knows what this is going to be and he’s in no mood for another lecture, regardless of who it comes from.

“Okay, I get it,” Steve says softly.

There’s a pause and then the hand is back. He bristles, but restrains himself from growling again.

“I know this is hard on you, but you have to work with us a little here,” Steve tells him. “You’re barely eating, I know you’re hardly sleeping, and you won’t come within a hundred feet of any of us unless you’re ordered.”

Phil doesn’t deign to gift him with a response and he hears a long, slow sigh from the captain. Steve settles in beside him, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, running his hand through Phil’s fur. “You probably feel like you’re being punished.”

Phil leans into the other man’s touch. He’s missed it. As angry or wounded as he feels, he’s missed just having Steve near him. The past week has left him feeling completely cut off from everyone else. Part of this is due to his own moping, but he can’t help but feel like he’s being avoided. It feels like something’s been broken in the team, but he can’t say just what it is.

“I’ve got news for you, but I’m not sure just how much you’ll want to hear it,” Steve announces.

Phil looks up to him expectantly, waiting for what the captain has to say.

“Well, we found Loki. But I guess it’d be more appropriate to say he found us,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair and blowing out an exasperated breath. “He came to us. Apparently, whatever spell he used on you didn’t have the intended effect and now he’s curious as to why that is. He’s come here of his own volition and we’ve got him placed under heavy guard so if he were to try anything…”

Steve stops there, looking troubled. Phil doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know what’s going through his head. No doubt Steve isn’t the only one who’s apprehensive about letting Loki and Phil anywhere near each other, but they’ve hardly got any other options. It’s not the optimal choice, but it’s the best one they’ve got at the moment. Phil sits up on his haunches and reaches a paw out. He wraps it around the soldier’s shoulders, hauling him in for a big bear hug. Steve chuckles as he’s enveloped in the embrace and presses his face to Phil’s fur as he hugs back.

“I just want to get you back,” Steve says. “And I’m anxious about letting him near you… but my gut’s telling me that he might be telling the truth on this.”

Phil snorts.

“I know, Phil, I’m not about to go trusting the Trickster God without good reason,” Steve says. He pulls back and shakes his head. “It may just be to feed his own curiosity or his ego, but I think he wants to get to the bottom of this as much as we do. This is your call, though. If you don’t want to see him, we call the whole thing off.”

In response, Phil rises on all fours and prods Steve’s behind with his nose. If there’s a chance that Loki might be telling the truth for once and it means that he might not have to spend much longer as a bear, then he’s willing to give just about anything a shot. Even if ‘anything’ comes down to letting his would-be murderer check him out.

“Alright, we’ll get going,” Steve says.

It doesn’t escape Phil’s notice that through the entirety of their trip, Steve keeps a hand on his back. Even as they eventually arrive at the secure S.H.I.E.L.D. facility where Loki is awaiting them. As they draw towards the Trickster God—who is surrounded by Avengers and heavily armed S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel—he can feels Steve’s hand begin to stroke his fur worriedly.

“No, this wasn’t what I was aiming for at all,” Loki says with a cluck of his tongue.

“None of your tricks, brother,” Thor says, his grip tightening on Mjolnir as he places a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “Return the Son of Coul to his proper form.”

“Yes, well, let’s just have a look at him first,” Loki says.

Phil can’t help but stiffen, his ears pressing flat against his skull, when the god draws near, flanked by his brother. He’s not in a hurry to have Loki anywhere near him, but he _is_ in a hurry to get back to being a man so unfortunately this is something he’s going to have to put up with. Loki folds his arms behind his back and offers him a toothy smile.

“And how are we this morning, Son of Coul?” he asks.

Phil grunts, unamused.

“Loki,” Steve says warningly. “We have a deal.”

“Yes, yes,” Loki says waving a hand. “I understand you’re in a great deal of hurry to have your… _mate_ returned to you, but you mustn’t rush these things. They’re delicate. You wouldn’t like me to accidentally turn him into something else, would you?”

“I’d like to flush you out an airlock, but apparently that’s not my call,” Nick says from the corner of the room.

“Charming,” Loki drawls. “Well, let’s get on with it then…”

Steve stands firmly by his side as Loki begins what seems to be an initial physical examination. He mutters to himself now and again while he works, and Phil tries to distract himself by looking elsewhere. Nick, Maria and Jasper are gathered together at one corner of the room wearing matching looks of tight, controlled calm. The remaining Avengers are gathered at the other corner. He can see the quiet, murderous look in Clint and Natasha’s eyes. Tony stands by, fully suited up and with one hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce himself is looking… ill. Peering around Loki and Thor, Phil takes a good look at the doctor. He pulls something from a bag he’s holding, something long and slender, and jabs himself in the thigh with it. Bruce exhales heavily as he does so, looking strained but more relaxed than he had a moment prior. Phil’s ears twitch up when he realizes just what’s going on: Bruce is sedating himself. He grunts in agitation, rising up on his haunches but backs down at Thor and Steve’s insistence.

“Banner will be alright,” Thor assures him. “This method of caging the beast is not unfamiliar to you, correct?”

Phil dips his head in a nod, but he’s not happy about it. He knows how much stress this puts on Bruce and he hates to think that the man is putting himself through it so they can have the Hulk on stand-by if they need him. He hates how much trouble this has caused them all.

“I’ll need you to stand back, Captain,” Loki announces suddenly.

“Why?” Steve counters, not budging an inch.

“You can’t be in direct contact with him while I’m working,” Loki says, his tone that of a parent explaining something to an annoying child. “Unless you’d like to be transformed as well? Perhaps something with a slightly less-obnoxious color scheme?”

“Enough, Loki,” Thor says, gripping the mischief maker’s arm. “You are under my protection for the moment, as we agreed, but _do not_ test my patience further or I will leave you to Banner’s tender mercies.”

Loki raises his hands peaceably, looking rather put off by all of them all the same. “I made a perfectly reasonable request.”

With great reluctance, Steve withdraws his hand but doesn’t move from where he stands by Phil’s side. Phil noses at Steve’s arm, nudging him in order to get him moving. Steve sighs as he looks down but complies with Phil’s wishes and walks the few paces away from him to move to Loki’s other side.

“Not exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose it will do,” Loki mutters.

The god rolls his shoulders before he sets his hands on Phil’s head. There is a brief, green glow and Phil is forced to close his eyes against the light. But then it stops. Very suddenly, the glow is cut off and Loki’s hands move away. Phil opens his eyes and looks down, expecting to see himself restored, only to find himself still a bear.

“Loki,” Thor growls.

“I had thought this might be the case and it would appear I was right,” Loki says, ignoring Thor’s warning. “Magic on magic can be a tricky thing. If you cast a spell without knowing what other magic may be in play, you often get unexpected results. I cast a spell to kill a man and on that front, I succeeded.”

“Just what the fuck are you saying?” Nick asks, stepping forward.

“Your Son of Coul suffers a curse, one which forces him to take this form approximately once per year,” Loki explains. “I was unaware of this. I cast a spell to kill a _man_ , not a beast. Not knowing the two were one in the same, the magic conflicted. I succeeded, in a manner of speaking; the man you knew is dead and he will no longer be able to regain his human form. He will remain a beast for the rest of his days.”

The ensuing action is like an explosion, like the eruption of a volcano. Steve surges forward, grabbing hold of Loki and throwing him to the floor. Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel move forward into the fray just as Bruce snaps. The room is destroyed in a matter of moments, but it’s all silent to Phil. He sits unmoving amidst the rubble, trying to process what he’s just been told. He doesn’t want to believe it’s true. Loki is a liar. They all know this. But this time… Why didn’t it feel like a lie?

* * *

In the end, Loki escapes. Phil supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. They return to the Tower, not knowing what else to do, and Phil shuts himself up in his room. He just wants to sleep, he wants to wake up and find out this has all been a bad dream. The others give him his space, but hover close by; he knows because his nose can pick up their scent when they pass by his door, his ears can pick up even their softest footsteps.

So when Steve enters his quarters, he’s not in the least bit surprised. The captain is dressed for bed, clad in a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. They’d both moved into one level of the Tower together, but this room had been set aside as Phil’s, for work and for his transformations. Steve pads over to him across the carpet and stops just behind him.

“Is it alright if I sleep here?”

It’s not a question either of them have had to ask one another since the first time it had been posed and it occurs to Phil just how long it’s been since they’ve slept together. And the fact that they very well might never be able to sleep together in the same capacity ever again. And the fact that, if he really is stuck this way, then he has to let Steve go.

But those are things they’ll have to talk about later. For now, he needs this. So he scooches over, making it clear that he’s making room for his partner. Steve gets down on the floor and rests back against Phil, letting the large bear curl around him. Phil noses at the scrapes and bandages from the day’s earlier fight, licking Steve’s hand in concern. The soldier reaches up, running a hand through his fur.

“I’m alright,” he says. “It’s nothing that bad.”

Phil huffs but leaves it there.

“We’re getting a second opinion,” Steve says decisively. “Still no luck in contacting Strange, but Thor’s put the word out and we’re hoping someone might be able to fix this. For all we know, Loki was just lying again. Trying to get under our skin.”

Phil would like to believe that. He’d like to believe that he might not have to spend the rest of his life like this, but he’s really not sure he can. It’s true that Loki would have plenty of reason to lie, but… something make Phil believe he hadn’t been. Perhaps it’s just his fear coloring his view of the situation, but something tells him that’s not the case.

“Whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says, breaking into his thoughts. “I want you to know that.”

Unable to respond verbally, Phil just curls tighter around Steve and puts his head down. However they feel about each other, whatever the depth of those feelings, Phil knows that if this change is permanent then he can’t let Steve do that. He can’t allow the man to make that kind of promise. As he is, he can’t be to Steve what a partner should be—he can’t even talk, for God’s sake.

Steve is still hopeful, so Phil supposes he should try to be the same. But when the soldier says he loves him, Phil can’t help the despair he feels at being incapable of saying it back.


	25. Yahoo Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hufflepuff has just won an important Quidditch match, but Steve's got other things on his mind.

Steve cheers every bit as loud as his housemates as they carry Clint through the Common Room on their shoulders. The Hufflepuff Seeker, having just clinched an important win for the team, pumps his fist in the air, the game-winning Snitch clutched between his fingers and calls for them to get the party started.

It doesn’t take them long to get the festivities going because whatever the other Houses may say about Hufflepuff, they certainly know how to throw a good party. Steve has been making the rounds, trying to make time for everyone who calls for his attention, but it’s busy work. When he finally manages to extract himself from the majority of the celebration, his first thought is to find himself something to drink. He’s surprised when, just as he begins contemplating wading through the crowd to find the punch bowl, a glass of pumpkin juice enters his field of vision.

“Congratulations, Captain.”

Steve follows the hand holding the glass and finds it’s attached to their Head Boy, Phil Coulson. The older boy’s blue-grey eyes crinkle as he smiles and Steve finds himself smiling to match as he gratefully accepts the offering.

“Thanks Phil,” he says. He takes a few long gulps from the glass and sighs in relief, raising the glass slightly. “And thanks.”

“You looked like you needed it,” Phil answers, holding his own glass. He looks away, nodding towards Clint as he continues to enjoy the well-deserved attention of his peers. “Clint really outdid himself today. I think Gryffindor may have figured out why we call him ‘Hawkeye.’”

“Yeah, he was something alright,” Steve says, shaking his head in amazement. “Did you see that nosedive he went into? I was half-sure he was gonna fly straight into the dirt.”

“Oh, I saw,” Phil says with a nod. “Just like I saw you take that Bludger for him. You people are the reason I have ulcers.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Steve says, blaming the heat of the room for the way the color rises to his cheeks. “You know I can take it.”

“Mm-hmm,” Phil hums off-handedly. “All the same, did you check in with Madam Pomfrey?”

“Really, it isn’t that bad,” Steve assures him.

Phil eyeballs him for a moment before at last giving in with a slight shrug of his shoulders. Steve knows how seriously Phil takes his duties as Head Boy; how much he considers the well-being of every student in Hufflepuff House his priority. So he knows that Phil will be keeping an eye on him regardless of what he says. It’s something he’s grown used to and even fond of in the years they’ve known each other, as protectiveness is one of Phil’s most dominant traits.

But this will be the last year of that. As a seventh year student, Phil is set to graduate at the end of the school year—leaving behind Steve and Clint, both of whom are sixth years. The reminder, along with the knowledge that the school year is nearly halfway through, sends a pang of regret straight to his gut. It must show on his face because not a moment later, Phil’s hand is on his arm.

“Steve? Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” he asks.

Steve opens and closes his mouth, not sure what to say.

“You know, maybe a quick visit to Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t hurt,” he says. “Would you walk with me?”

“Of course,” Phil says, setting his glass down on a nearby table.

They begin parting through the crowd, doing their best not to be stopped as they go along. They’ve almost made it to the door when their names are called over the throng of students. They pause, hanging by the exit as Clint maneuvers his way through to meet them.

“Don’t tell me you two are ditching,” he says.

“I’m just getting checked out by Madam Pomfrey,” Steve says. He shrugs one shoulder. “That Bludger to the ribs didn’t do me any favors.”

Any joviality is quickly swept from Clint’s features, his expression turning serious and concerned. “Is it bad?”

“He’s going so that I’ll stop pestering him,” Phil assures him.

“Mostly,” Steve agrees, earning him a snort from Phil.

Clint, as used to Phil’s nagging as Steve, seems to relax somewhat at the gentle teasing between them. There’s a moment where he seems to be about to ask if they’d like company, but something gives him pause. It’s well known that Clint’s ability to see what other people often miss is what got him onto the Quidditch Pitch, but what most people don’t know is that the things he sees aren’t limited to his view from a broomstick. Instead of asking what Steve thinks he’ll ask, the Seeker reaches out and wraps an arm around both their shoulders, hauling them in for a brief hug.

“Hurry back, huh? The party’s not the same without you,” he says.

After that, they’re quick to depart, wanting to get the visit to the hospital wing over as quickly as possible. They walk slowly, the halls being mostly deserted at this time and offering them a bit of quiet after all the commotion.

“Clint seemed to be acting strange,” Phil intones suddenly.

“Well, we’ve been talking lately,” Steve replies. “You know, about you leaving. There are only so many nights like this we’re going to get and I guess, maybe, he might’ve been thinking about that.”

Phil stops where he is in the middle of the hall. Caught by surprise, it takes Steve a moment to realize. He turns to find the older boy watching him with a mixture of curiosity and confusion.

“Steve, you know that just because I’m graduating doesn’t mean everything has to end,” Phil states evenly. “We’re still going to be friends.”

“I know,” Steve says. “It’s just that next year’ll be the first year we’ve been here without you.”

“And the last,” Phil reminds him. He shakes his head. “You make it sound like the end of the world.”

“You’re not bothered by it? At all?” Steve asks, a little wounded by the implication.

Phil’s expression softens into something that makes it clear he’d been wrong. “Of course I am. I’ve been thinking about it for months and I know that when the time comes, it’ll be more than a little bittersweet for me. But I also know that there’s life after Hogwarts and whatever that life may be, I fully intend on keeping you in it.”

“I guess I just don’t want any of this to end,” Steve says.

“I don’t either,” Phil answers. “But that’s what growing up is.”

Steve hums noncommittally.

“For what it’s worth,” Phil says, “out of everything I’ve experienced in my time here, your friendship has been the thing I’ve treasured most.”

Steve watches him closely as he inhales deeply and lets the breath out slowly.

“And it’s because of that friendship that I’ve spent the past two years terrified that I might ruin it,” Phil admits.

“Ruin it? How?” Steve asks, bewildered.

Phil may be older, but Steve is the taller of the two of them, which is why it surprises him when Phil takes two fistfuls of his Quidditch uniform and drags him down into a kiss. For a moment he’s too stunned to react and stands frozen in place. He feels Phil hesitate, feels him begin to draw away as though he’s made a terrible mistake and Steve can’t bear to let him think that a moment longer.

He takes charge and pushes Phil up against the wall, crowding him as he crushes their lips back together. The tension bleeds out of Phil’s body as Steve reciprocates and takes it a step further, tracing the line of the shorter boy’s lips with his tongue until Phil obliges him. Phil’s hands rake through his hair and Steve can’t even be bothered to be thankful that the corridor is deserted as they kiss until they’re forced to part for lack of air.

They stand with their foreheads pressed together, hearts hammering and short of breath. Steve shivers as Phil’s hands come to frame his face and the Head Boy presses a soft, gentle kiss to his lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that for… too long,” Phil says quietly.

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Steve answers with a huff of laughter. “I’d like to do it again later, too.”

“After we get your ribs checked.”

“You’re so pushy.”

“Admit it: you love it.”

Steve smiles against the other boy’s lips. “Yeah. I think I do.”

The two resume their journey shortly thereafter, walking hand-in-hand through the halls. They return to the Common Room a little later than expected, but the festivities are still going full swing, so they find they haven’t really missed—or been missed—much. It’s easy to join in on the celebration, and when Clint wades through the crowd to offer them congratulations, no one would ever think to suspect that they might be celebrating something a little bit different.


	26. Zip Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having a baby around gets you thinking sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't get over my love for Steve and Phil playing house with de-aged Tony.

“I never knew babies had so many clothes these days,” Steve remarks, staring down at the vast array of clothing Pepper had bought.

“If you ask me, a lot of it’s superfluous,” Phil says, trying to get Tony to stop fussing.

“We just like it because it makes them look cute,” Pepper says with a shrug of her shoulder.

“Can’t argue with that,” Steve says, pulling an outfit out and laying it on the changing table. “He did look pretty darn cute in that teddy bear onesie.”

“I picked that one out,” Phil says as he finishes changing the infant’s diaper.

Steve and Pepper share a look behind the agent’s back. From the beginning of this whole de-aging debacle, Phil had been the one to insist that they not go overboard with baby Tony because sooner or later they would get him back to his proper age and it would be less messy for all of them if they maintained a professional distance. That was what he said. And yet, out of all of them, Phil seems to be the one growing most attached.

“You sound proud of that,” Pepper says smugly.

“Oh, don’t go down that road again,” Phil snorts as he reaches for the tiny Iron Man t-shirt Steve had placed on the table.

“What road?” Steve asks, feeling like something just went right over his head.

“It’s nothing,” Pepper says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just… something we were talking about.”

Pepper and Phil fall mysteriously silent after that, the only sound in the room being that of Tony’s happy babbling as the agent dresses him. Something is going on and Steve’s not about to let the two of them keep whatever secret it is they’re hiding to themselves. Especially since it seems to be something they don’t want him to find out about.

“Something tells me that whatever you were talking about is something I should know about,” Steve says.

The two of them share a long look, and Steve wonders if they’re planning on keeping mum about the whole thing, regardless of what he says.

“It was just talk, we weren’t necessarily planning anything,” Pepper explains.

“And you were talking about…?” Steve prods.

“We discussed the possibility that, although we’re working to find a solution to this, the de-aging may not be temporary,” Phil says, gripping Tony under the armpits and lifting him off the table so Pepper can get his shorts on. “Of course, we’re doing everything we can to make sure it is, but in the event that it isn’t we need to have some sort of plan in place.”

It clicks for Steve without either of them having to say anything more. They’d all commented on Phil’s seemingly endless talent when it came to dealing with baby Tony and Phil himself had confessed that he’d always wanted kids but had never had the opportunity. Steve had talked at length with him about the subject, about whether kids would ever be something in their future together, and they hadn’t come to a definitive decision. Still, it had sounded as though Phil had been leaning towards being against the idea, which is why all this surprises him.

“You were talking about the two of us adopting him,” Steve says.

“Phil didn’t bring it up. I did,” Pepper clarifies. They watch as Phil slips the baby’s socks on, taking time to make sure he gets Tony giggling first by ticking his feet. “I don’t think it would have to come down to it, but if it did, I thought that Tony could do a lot worse when it comes to parents.”

“It was just talk,” Phil assures him, handing Tony a teething ring before scooping him up in his arms.

“Was it?” Steve wants to know, an eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“No one’s expecting you two to take that kind of responsibility on,” Pepper says, patting his arm. “I was just teasing Phil about being a good daddy and it came up.”

“Well, you’re right about that; he _is_ a good daddy,” Steve agrees with a playful grin.

“Don’t encourage her,” Phil says, rolling his eyes.

“But you wear that baby bjorn so well,” Pepper says.

“I’m going to go get his formula and pretend I didn’t hear that,” Phil says, walking away from them.

Steve chuckles quietly along with Pepper as they watch him go, but now he has to wonder about it all. Here they are, cracking jokes about what a great father Phil makes, but are they really joking?

* * *

It turns out that once the idea had been brought up, Steve couldn’t get it out of his head. Days go by and he finds that all his free time is spent pondering the question—not that he’s had much free time, as this week had been his and Phil’s to watch after Tony. Still, when Phil closes their bedroom door behind him with a sigh, he’s sure that neither of them really minded all that much.

“The baby’s down for the night, Clint’s on duty if he wakes up, and my cell phone is off for the next twenty-four hours,” Phil announces.

Steve gives him a look and that’s all it takes before they’re both practically sprinting towards the bed. As tired as both of them are, they found that this predicament has been the kind of roadblock their bedroom didn’t need. Phil pushes him onto the mattress and Steve practically lifts the agent onto him. Phil straddles his waist and Steve reels him in by his tie, so eager to kiss him that their teeth clumsily clack together and they have to take a minute to compose themselves for the absurdity of it all. While they’re doing so, Steve decides they’re both wearing far too much clothing for his tastes and begins unfastening the shorter man’s tie.

“So were you honestly considering having us adopt Tony?” Steve asks.

Phil, sitting with two fistfuls of Steve’s shirt and looking prepared to attempt ripping it right off him, stares down at the soldier with his lips slightly parted. He blinks slowly, as though he isn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“You really want to talk about this _now_?” he asks.

“Well,” Steve says, tossing the tie away and moving on to the buttons on Phil’s shirt, “ever since you and Pepper brought it up, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

“I told you, we were just talking, that’s all,” Phil says, prompting Steve to sit up so he can tug his shirt off over his head. “No one’s expecting that of us.”

“That’s not what I was trying to get at,” Steve says, gripping his partner’s hips as he remains sitting upright. He reaches up and pushes Phil’s suit coat off his shoulders, helping him shrug out of it. “What if I was okay with the idea?”

“Do you understand what you’re saying right now?” Phil asks, his hands braced on Steve’s bare shoulders. “This isn’t something you can just decide to do one day. It’s a serious commitment, Steve.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Steve responds, working at Phil’s belt. “I know what kind of responsibility we’d be taking on; I wouldn’t bring it up if I didn’t.”

Phil seems to be at something of a loss as to what to say to that, so he sighs heavily and scrubs a hand across his face. For a minute, Steve is sure he’s in for one of Phil’s patented lectures, but to his surprise the agent simply leans in for another kiss. Even as Steve pulls Phil’s shirt off and unzips his fly, he has to wonder if the agent is just trying to distract him from a conversation he doesn’t want to have.

“Give me a minute to think,” Phil says against his lips. “I didn’t expect you to ever go with the idea.”

Steve gives him that much, wondering what’s going through the other man’s head. Phil pushes him back against the bed before sliding down his legs. He makes quick work of Steve’s belt and fly before tapping his hands against the soldier’s hips, prompting him to lift off the bed. Once Steve has done so, Phil begins backing off the bed, his grip on Steve’s pants and underwear taking the garments with him. Once the lie in a pile on the floor, Phil steps out of his own pants and underwear, depositing his socks on top of them before pulling Steve’s off his feet and dropping them to the floor.

From there, Steve is too focused on the fact that this is the first opportunity they’ve had to have sex in weeks to consider whether or not Phil is still giving his proposal any thought. As it turns out, Phil _has_ been giving it thought.

“So do you really want kids?”

Steve can’t really help it if he splutters somewhat at the question, as it had been posed just as Phil had lowered himself onto the soldier’s cock.

“I… is this really a good time?” Steve asks.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” Phil reminds him, lifting off of him and dropping slowly back into his lap.

“Yeah, back when we were both fully clothed and not having sex,” Steve answers, firmly gripping his partner by the hips and rocking up into him all the same.

“I’ve been taking care of a baby on top of my S.H.I.E.L.D. duties all week,” Phil pants, grinding down when Steve thrusts up. “If we tried to do these separately, only one of them would get done. Since both of us aren’t going to pass up an opportunity to have sex and you want to have this talk, we’re multitasking. So I’ll ask again: are you serious about this?”

Steve wonders if he should be impressed by Phil’s composure or worried that they’re going to talk about adopting a de-aged teammate while fucking. Still, he sees Phil’s point. This whole ordeal has been exhausting for all of them and he’s fairly certain they’re both spending their day off tomorrow sleeping. So although he would prefer to talk under different circumstances, he’s going to take what he can get.

“I wasn’t sure at first. We talked about it before,” Steve says, hips bucking up as Phil rides him harder. He moans, head tipping back as he thrusts at a speed to match. “You told me before that you thought you were too old, but I don’t think you—ah, fuck, Phil!—I don’t think you really think that. I know our jobs are dangerous, but we wouldn’t be the first. And the more I thought about it the more I…”

He knows what it’s going to sound like—something he blurts out in the heat of the moment. Except this is how he really feels about it. It’s the sort of thing he keeps to himself because he’s not sure if they’re ready, not sure they’re on the same page, but he wants Phil to know what he wants out of this relationship. He wants the agent to know how good he thinks they can be together.

“I want to have kids with you. I want to marry you and have kids with you and share whatever comes with it,” Steve pants, his movements growing fast and desperate. “I know we can do that. I know we’re capable and if Tony stays this way then I know we can give him the kind of life he should have and if he doesn’t… I still want to do those things with you.”

Phil doesn’t say anything. He shakes his head, eyes shut tight, trying to focus enough to deliver a response, but Steve can see he’s too close to the edge to come back now. The soldier reaches out, taking his partner’s cock in hand and stroking him feverishly, drawing a startled gasp from the agent. It’s just as he lets himself go that Phil stills above him, spilling over his fist.

It’s only after, when they’re lying in a sticky, sweaty, panting pile that Phil says anything.

“I didn’t know you wanted to get married.”

Steve clears his throat, shrugging in an attempt to hide his embarrassment from the agent.

“I dunno, call me old fashioned but I really just figured we’d end up there someday,” he says.

“And that’s something you want?” Phil asks, looking up at him sleepily from where he lies on his stomach.

“Yeah,” Steve answers quietly. “And it’s okay if you don’t.”

“No, no, that’s not it at all,” Phil assures him. “I guess I just never…”

Steve knows. Phil is the kind of man you’d expect to be married, to have children. He’d kind of expected those things himself. But they’d never happened and he’d primarily given up on the idea, tucking it away as a ‘what if’ to think about now and again.

“And kids?” Phil prompts.

“I honestly think we could do it,” Steve says. “Sue and Reed’s son seems to be turning out fine enough and it’s not even as though they’re the first in our position to have kids.”

“Mm that’s true,” Phil hums.

“It’s just something we could keep on the table,” Steve says. “No deciding anything just yet, but we can always talk a little more about it later, right? Phil?”

He shouldn’t be surprised to find Phil is asleep considering the kind of week they’ve had. Pulling the sheets over both of them, he huddles down beside the agent, throwing an arm over his waist. He doesn’t know whether this will mean anything for them come the morning, but he figures there will be plenty of time to figure that out once they’ve gotten some sleep.


End file.
